Creed
by Avalon-Shiranui
Summary: A story telling part of the Assassin's Creed story from another's perspective—a woman who is saved by Altair. But Altair is a deadly assassin; is he allowed to love? And is she allowed to live?
1. Chapter 1

**_Creed_**

_Based on Assassin's Creed_

Akilah chewed the end of the feather quill and stared through the instructor's head at the wall. These tutorials were pointless in every manner of the word—she was a woman, and no worthy marriage candidate wanted a woman trained to think. She applied all acquired knowledge to the world around her; otherwise, why learn it? This sort of inclination would keep her unwed for some time; she knew that much without a tutorial.

Still, her father insisted that she attend lessons and leave her marriage to him. He was feared by members of the poor and middle district, but he was not cruel. He demanded respect, challenged uncertainties, and kept to his word. People feared him because they respected him so fiercely, not the other way around. She, on the other hand, felt no fear toward him. They were both bull-headed, but they relied on each other to be their solace and sanctuary. She tended the home and affairs in the absence of a mother figure, and he did his best to always ensure her life remained conflict-free and calm. His occupation eluded her even after all these years, but whatever it was, she knew it must be just—like him.

"Akilah," summoned the teacher. He approached her from the front of the room, his white robes ruffling as they bunched on the concrete floor, and tucked his arms behind his back. "Are you listening?"

Akilah's large black eyes blinked at the back of another student's head then looked up at the instructor. His familiar face showed signs of age, yet the depth of his hazelnut eyes made the lines look more wise than old. But his displeased expression directed straight down at her left little to admire at the moment. "What?" she asked blankly.

The men chuckled lowly, and the teacher sighed. "It would seem we are boring you, Akilah. Perhaps we should try something you find more interesting. Prey tell, what _were_ you thinking of?"

Akilah straightened as all the eyes gazed in her direction. "Oh, you know, traditional things: philosophy, religion, war, politics—"

"Women should think about cleaning and cooking and leave the rest to their husbands," sputtered a scholar across the room.

"I have no husband," she countered calmly, never breaking eye contact with the instructor. "Do not worry. I hold enough knowledge to donate to other women's husbands."

"This tutorial is adjourned," the teacher interrupted. His eyes moved to the half-standing man across the room. "Please leave quietly so as not to disturb the other students." The men did as they were instructed, and the challenging student reluctantly followed. The scholar massaged his temple as he withdrew from the still-occupied seat. "_Why_ can you not keep quiet, Akilah?"

"Uncle," Akilah wined, standing. "Do you really expect me to succumb to such overbearing mock?"

"You are my brother's daughter. I should not be so surprised."

She frowned and marched to his desk. "What are you trying to imply, Uncle?"

"I'm not _trying_ to imply anything." He sat at his desk and stared at her with practiced calm. "I'm not interested in arguing your engraved ideals, but keep in mind that my brother's ways have been convenient for him. That doesn't mean they shall be as accommodating to you." He laced his fingers over his lap. "They never are for someone who knows so little."

"Uncle—!"

"You may leave now." He picked up a quill and jotted words on parchment. "I'll excuse your disrespectful behavior this time since you are family."

Akilah squared her jaw. "Uncle—"

"I'm quite busy."

"I just—"

"Get out!" he snapped and directed an angered gaze at her. "Now!"

She bit her tongue and bowed. Her uncle was a good man with both intelligence and poise, so when he raised his voice, it was best to take heed. "Yes sir." She gathered her textbooks, parchment, ink, and quills, and headed for the corridor.

"Give your father my regards," he added, but she left without giving a sign of acknowledgment.

* * *

A quartet of husky browned men stood outside the entrance to her home. Typically two guards waited, and the surplus could only mean one thing—her father had returned! She shoved past the guards and barreled up the stairs into her father's undecorated bedroom. "Father!"

The dark bulk of muscles turned away from his hanging garments and beamed at her. "Akilah!" She ran to him, and he wrapped his bulging arms around her. He stood over a foot above her with long black-gray whiskers reaching down to the top of her head. His bare chest warmed her cheek, and she smiled at the speed of his heart as they embraced. "I have missed you, my darling."

"And I you, Father." She pushed back from him. "How was your trip? You're back early."

"As good as planned. We made better time than I expected. It must be because I missed you so." They hugged again then he returned to selecting garments. "How are your studies?"

"Fine," she responded robotically. "Uncle sends his best wishes."

"He isn't bothering you?"

"No, he is a fine teacher." Akilah smiled at the man's indecisive stare at the clothes. He never could figure out simple affairs. She selected a pair of robes and a cloth tunic then helped him dress. "But I have been thinking. Maybe it would be best if I didn't go to the tutorials anymore. I have no need of such knowledge."

"We talked about this before, Akilah. You will continue your lessons."

"I'm already twenty-three, older than most women when they marry. I know how to run a family, and you're not home to find my husband. If I stopped wasting time on lectures—"

"You _will_ continue your lessons." He took her hands and clenched them, bringing their eyes together. "I do this for your own good, my sweet. Trust me to know what is best."

Akilah sighed. He may know what was best, but he did not always know what was right. Still, he had yet to mislead her, thus, she nodded. "I understand, Father."

"Good." The rise in his chest indicated his pleasure. "Now if you'll excuse me, my darling. I do believe Abul Nuqoud is having a feast, and I have matters to attend to beforehand." He kissed her hands then left, robes cluttering behind him.

Akilah hated whatever it was her father did. It deprived them of too much time, and her of too much questioning. She did not pry where she was unwanted, but she did not appreciate being brushed off either. Her mother, Allah rest her soul, died ignorant and alone—she would not share her fate.

She departed the empty room and walked down the narrow hallway to her own room. Her and her father did not seem different, but their rooms left no question that they were indeed dissimilar. His room homed garments, sleeping cushions, and a desk with no papers or utensils atop. Personality did not live there, and it suited the quarters since her father spent little time in the box hole. Even curtains did not hang from the ever-closed window.

Her room smelled of sweet flowers—the flowers she kept in a vase beside her own cluttered desk. She bought a handful of fresh flowers every week from a boy in the market who charmed her at first glance; another story. Pink and yellow veils covered her windows—also closed, though they usually sat wide open when she was home. A door stood opposite the entrance, one window on either side, and it led to a balcony overlooking the rich district of Damascus. She enjoyed reading and working in the sunlight of her balcony rather than the confines of a closed and silent lecture hall. Her father crafted shelves for her, and each bookcase strategically occupied empty spaces against her walls. He brought back trinkets from his business affairs: books, jewelry, garments, pendants, scientific breakthroughs, photographs; and they filled each shelf snuggly. The defining feature of her home, however, was the elegant yellow, purple, and blue silks of her bed space. The cushions were decorated in exquisite patterns of holy temples, a woman with her child, soldiers defending their city gates, and similar scenes of pride and emotion.

Akilah thrust her hands through a veil and into the window, forcing the shutters open, and a breeze of sunshine illuminated her bronze face. She took a deep whiff of the air then leaned on the sill. Life bored her. There was no reason to believe that she would either get her preference _or_ what was traditional. She enjoyed her studies, but she enjoyed her role as a woman as well. Her mother told her once that life dictated just that—not being dead; but living was reserved for those born great. Akilah suspected her mother meant men, but she never said so. Still, Akilah liked to believe that she could be great, like her father; but she was beginning to lose hope. She sighed and slouched against the window. "Living better get here soon before I forget what living means."

The city rooftops were barren and quiet, but the longer she stared at them, the stranger it became. Guards usually patrolled the rooftops, so where were they? Soldiers often tried to woo her while she sat on the balcony, and others made a special effort to protect her particular rooftop. Now, a single man could not be seen.

Then the sun glinted off a blur in the distance. It winked twice more before a figure in white began to take shape. The figure became a man, running at a speed and grace that rivaled that of the eagles recently taking residence in the city. An arrow protruded through the excess of his sleeve, and the glint was the light on a long sword hilt hanging at his waist.

Akilah squinted and leaned out the window for a closer look. "What is he doing?"

The man vaulted from the roof to a hanging scaffold then onto her balcony. Her presence went unnoticed until she gasped, and he dived through the window like a spear. He righted himself the instant he touched the floor then bolted the door shut. He yanked the arrow from his sleeve and spied out the window.

"Who are you?" He turned to stare at her once she spoke. His features blurred by her before, but now she studied him more thoroughly. His broad shoulders handsomely carried the dirtied white cloak, which, despite a height that easily rivaled her father's, scraped the bottom of his straped brown leather boots. Only his scruffy chin and curvy lips showed themselves beneath the hood, but the fair complexioned flesh of them proved him to be of Kashmiri heritage. Akilah quickly took note that he was heavily armored with not only the long sword, but knives on his wide belt, a blade carefully hidden inside his left forearm's leather sleeve, and a short sword secured across his back.

"Please don't hurt me," she insisted, dropping to her knees and lifting her hands to her face. "I won't tell anyone, just please, don't touch me."

"I'm not going to hurt you, woman, so long as you remain silent."

"He went this way!" a voice outside shouted. "He couldn't have gotten far; find him!"

The cloaked man faced the window, and as the voices grow louder the armed guards drew closer. They clambered from rooftop to rooftop, swords preceding each step, while some men stood immobile at their station with arrows set to bows. The soldiers were stupid. They spent most of their time drinking and shouting at passersby—especially the men stationed in the poor district. More than once Akilah witnessed the abuse of citizens by the guards empowered to protect them. What the soldiers lacked in brains they amended for in their brute persistence.

Now, this man was their prey. The weapons dangling from his ensemble made him formidable—he clearly hid for some purpose other than fear. "Check the balconies," one man barked.

Akilah lunged at the intruder against her better judgment; actually, her impulse left no judgment to ignore. She shoved him back from the window and into the locked balcony door. He grabbed her fiercely by the shoulders, but when she pressed her body into his—forcing them both flat against the wood—he reframed from pushing her away.

"Did you hear that?" a guard inquired.

Footsteps emanated on the balcony, and Akilah clasped the stranger's cloak. Her eyes focused on the veiled window, the expectation of a soldier's head ramming through the veil to expose the secret within. Her cheek touched the white linen on his chest, but the barrier did not conceal his steady heartbeat. He smelled unusual—natural traces of dirt and hay blended into an unsophisticated incense that neither attracted nor repulsed; it simply stuck. He pressed a hand to her back and the other to her head. They secured her in the shadows with him, and she was certain the palms were large enough to encompass her wholly, and strong enough to silence her permanently. But he would not. Somehow, she knew he meant it when he said he would not harm her.

A shadow fell on the window veil. Akilah maneuvered her face into his chest, and, unlike his, her heart pulsed intensely. The darkness and his smell comforted her while the footsteps continued.

"Come on," a guard finally relented. "He must be back in the street. We'll get him later." The footsteps dissipated with the voices until only the calm humdrum in the streets below remained.

Akilah sighed softly then lifted her head to study him. He had been watching the window, but turned his eyes to her when she moved. His lips, now visibly showing a light scare on one side, touched her veil at the tip of her nose; she had not realized how close they became. So handsome, a shame the hood cloaked him before now—now that she stared up at his large black eyes. The eyes were intense, concealing everything on his mind, but never the fire burning in his soul. They made her stop breathing.

His fingers glided free of her hair covering and lingered on her arm. "Are you all right?"

Akilah nodded and only inhaled when he stepped away from her to the window. The guards were gone, she knew, but she did not speak as he studied the outside world. He glanced briefly at her, probably as a final assurance that she was in fact all right, then pushed the window open and vaulted out. She darted to the window and flung the veil aside. He wasted no time, literally gliding from building to building, and Akilah did not realize his intent until he pounced to a lower rooftop. He landed on an unsuspecting soldier's back, drew back his left arm, and thrust the hidden blade deep into the side of the man's throat. Blood instantly oozed from the wound, and the soldier fell limp. The attacker retracted his blade, and the deepness of the wound became apparent when Akilah saw the foot-long metal covered in fresh crimson blood.

Akilah's eyes widened, and the hairs on the back of her neck bristled. She did not scream, or even gawk at the sight. It still happened too quickly, too swiftly, too perfectly to elicit any other response than awe. The blade sheathed itself back into his sleeve, and he touched the back of the soldier's turbaned head. She opened her mouth just slightly, a whisper coming unconsciously: "Assassin."

He looked up now, and his dark eyes solidified on her. She stared back at him, unable to break his marbled gaze.

"Miss Akilah?"

Akilah slammed the window shut and spun abruptly. A guard from the entrance of the home made himself present in the doorway and bowed. "Forgive me, ma'am. We saw the guards leaving the rooftop and thought that something might be wrong. Are you all right?"

Akilah inhaled slowly to keep her breath steady then smiled. "Of course. They must be looking for another bandit or something." She turned to pull the curtains together and made a quick note that the assassin had disappeared. "I think I'll go to the market and buy something special for dinner tonight. Father will be gone at Abul Nuqoud's feast, so we shall simply have a feast of our own right at home." She approached him as casually as she hoped she usually did. "Does that sound like a grand idea, Nasir?"

The guard returned her smile and bowed. "My stomach can hardly stand the expectation, Mistress. Should I accompany you?"

"No need. I will be back soon enough, and the market is crowded. I think I'll be fine."

Nasir followed her along the hallway and down the stairs to the door. "On the contrary, ma'am, the soldiers are still unsure of the city's safeness. They feel that the recent death of city leaders is less than a coincidence."

Akilah usually disregarded talk of supposedly significant deaths—it usually bordered absurd paranoia—but now she listened keenly. "Deaths? Have officials finally come down with a sickness?"

"I wish it were that simple. Some weeks back, a black market merchant for the Saracens was killed in the poor district of Damascus. Tamir. Not a tragic loss, mind you, but one worth noting. He was not an easy man to get to, even if he didn't hide. Then a doctor in Acre suffered the same fate. Garnier de Naplouse's position was more significant as the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitalier. But the deaths have been confirmed as obvious assassinations since the slave trader Talal was murdered in Jerusalem last week."

"And the soldiers believe it to be the same assassin?"

"Yes. Each victim suffered a knife wound through the throat, rather large for a regular hidden dagger, but it is said that the assassin's of Al Mualim's assassin's guild wield such weapons."

Akilah remembered the kill on the rooftop only minutes before. "Is that so?"

Nasir realized his rabbit-trailing and knit his brow. "Mistress, please, I insist you take one of us with you. It could be dangerous."

"Nonsense, Nasir." She pocketed some money from a covered jar and tightened her veil across her face. "I am hardly as evil as Tamir, as significant as Garnier, or as secretive as Talal. No assassin will have need of my throat."

"But—"

"I go now. Mind the house for me, will you?" She gave him a reassuring nod and exited through the front archway into the hot sun.

* * *

The market seemed more crowded than usual. She never had need of making way for other shoppers, or holding extra tight to her packages incase someone bumped too roughly or one too many times. Now, people scurried like a swarm of bees to buy and sell their merchandise. The rich district market stretched down a road almost half a mile long, but, more importantly, was shielded beneath the tunnel that offices and warehouses overhead provided. The market drew in more than its district's citizens, but the poor and middle vendors as well. Akilah always enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the sellers and the buyers, but today, her mind was aloof.

No doubt remained that the stranger had been one of these assassins that Nasir spoke of, but what brought him to Damascus? The soldiers chased him—did that mean he killed another official? Or was it something else? She knew so little about this Al Mualim and his assassins, their behavior was difficult to predict. Still, he spared her after what she saw, and what she could know.

Apparently, he felt she posed no sort of threat to him. It saved her life in the end, but it did not make it any less insulting.

"Back for more flowers already, Madam Akilah?" A young boy, about twelve though almost at her height, smiled widely at her. She loved the way his pale chocolate eyes glistened with life. "Did you miss me, Ma'am, or has something terrible befallen your other flowers?"

Akilah winked at him and glanced over the flowers. "Perhaps someone came through my window and stole them?"

"I would not be the least surprised, ma'am. Our flowers are the best."

She smiled and perused over the flowers, but studied him carefully out of the corner of her eye. "How are things, Talak? Back home?"

"It's all right." He shrugged.

"No troubles then? Amongst the people or the guards?"

"Not at all, ma'am." He grinned. "Not since the demise of Tamir. The guards are too busy trying to find the assassin, and the people are left in peace. The elders say he is a vengeful spirit come to exact justice on the wicked. They say he isn't a man at all, and that's why he cannot be caught."

Akilah remember him, his black eyes and strong arms, that unique smell. He was a man, flesh and blood. She smiled and picked a yellow flower. "And what do you think?"

"I know he's real." He thrust a proud thumb at himself and lifted his chin. "He saved me once. The guards tried to destroy some of our flowers, but he stopped them! He was so quick, like an eagle, I barely saw him! If not for the unconscious guards, I might have thought him an apparition."

"It sounds as if you admire him." She reached out a hand and stroked his head. "It's all right to admire, my child, but don't confuse admiration and truth." She felt her heart pull as she remembered the words. "Just because a lifestyle has been accommodating to him doesn't mean it will be to you." She hated to admit it, but her uncle's wisdom rivaled his brilliance.

Suddenly, the city filled with the sound of ringing bells.

Talak looked up in surprise. "What's that?"

Akilah furrowed her brow at a nearby guard as he drew his sword and studied passersby more closely. "Talak, I want you to pack up and go home."

"But—"

"_Now_." She gave him a stern look, and he quickly complied. "Do not stop to talk to anyone until you've safely returned home, understood?"

"Yes, Madam Akilah."

Akilah waited until he safely headed home before studying her surroundings. Several of the other venders followed their example as they hurried to pack up their merchandise. The customers thinned too, but most lingered to gossip. And the guard—

She made a double take. The guard was gone. When did he leave?

"Assassin!"

Akilah spun around as the people scattered frantically, and guards stampeded down the street with raised swords. Up in the rafters! She gawked at the familiar white robes flying like wings through the constructs overhead. _It's him!_

"Stop, Assassin! You can't escape!" They got rapidly closer.

Akilah searched the street for something to put her into any sort of action. The rafters made a turn up ahead, and the open city lay just beyond. She darted around the corner and searched again. A pottery vendor! She yanked up a medium clay pot and held it over her head.

"Hey! You haven't paid for that!" The assassin passed overhead, and she threw the pot forward—just in time to shatter against a guard's face. "Ah!" the vendor screeched and darted away. Akilah grabbed smaller pots and hurled them at the shocked and angry guards.

"What the hell are you doing, woman?!" A guard forced his way to her and grabbed her arm. "You'll pay for that!"

"Let me go!" Akilah struggled against him as another guard came up and yanked off her sash. "Release me at once!"

"She must be in league with the assassin! Kill her!"

Akilah gawked at the large sword swinging into the air. "You won't get away with this!"

"Very true." A white blur landed atop the wielding guard, and the others jumped back. The assassin moved quickly to disarm and spear the guard who stole her sash, then send a knife through her captor's forehead.

Akilah gasped uncontrollably at the fallen bodies. "Father-Father—"

"You're safe now."

She felt lightheaded and dropped to her knees, but steady arms held her upright. "Daddy." The world began to darken. "Help me." And she fainted.

* * *

Sunset, though one could hardly tell with the shutters pulled. Akilah pressed a hand to her forehead and slowly sat up in her bed. She had returned home, but how? She remembered the assassin—he must have brought her here. He returned her favor, she supposed. Nasir stood outside the door, and when she tossed the sheets aside, he faced her. His face was grim, the lines of age more apparent than ever before, and somehow the dark eyes seemed even darker. He walked to her bedside and kneeled, pressing his forehead to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Miss Akilah."

Akilah stared strangely at him then spotted her father's guards standing outside her door as well. "Where is Father?"

Nasir did not rise from the ground, but after several prolonged moments of silence, he replied, "Dead."

Akilah's heart literally ceased to beat in that moment, but as the rhythm returned, it drew all strength from the rest of her body. "What?"

"Murdered. Abul Nuqoud poisoned all the guests, milady, shortly before he was assassinated." Nasir looked up briefly then lunged to his feet. "I'm deeply sorry, Miss Akilah!" He hesitated another second then reached forward and pulled her into his bulky arms, pressing her tears into the fabric of his tunic.

* * *

Akilah stared down the wall into the black waters below. Somewhere, inside these decorated chambers of wine and silk, her father breathed his last. Just beyond them, his killer met a similar fate. A fate distributed to all the guests—murdered. Ironic that Abul Nuqoud's killing of peasants was a much more wicked deed than an assassin's murder of him, though it was all murder just the same.

The Christians had a proverb for this: Be sure your sins will find you out. And Abul Nuqoud's sins finally caught up to him.

Still, that fact didn't change her father's cold hands, and here she stood just the same. Without him, what was there to live for? She would no doubt be shunned for her deceased father—no chance of marriage, and no further need of study. No goals, no family, no friends. Just an empty house.

"You shouldn't stand so close to the ledge."

Akilah looked up and jumped away at the sight of a hooded man kneeling on the ledge just inches from her. But as she reeled away from him, she backed straight over the barrier. It took seconds to comprehend what happened, but by the time she realized she was falling to her death, she stopped. Akilah's eyes stared up into the stranger's as he almost effortlessly yanked her erect by her arm.

Then she was in his arms again, this time their positions reversed as he pressed her flat against the ledge. She shivered only briefly at the feel of his warmth against her, but his hands tightened on her shoulders.

"Are you cold?" His voice sounded different from before—softer.

Akilah shook her head once and lowered her eyes from his face to the ground. "Just a chill. I'm fine."

He waited a moment then released her. "This is the third time you've ended up in my arms, daughter of Latif Sharif." He smirked when she glanced up. "Should I be suspicious of yours intentions, or do you just naturally attract trouble?"

Akilah frowned. "I hate to remind you of the obvious, but I believe the first two saves go to me, Assassin."

"Too true."

She expected more of a reaction, but he only continued to study her with those piercing black eyes. "What about you? Should I be suspicious of your intentions, or are you just naturally heroic?"

A flick of mischievous amusement passed his face. "You should be suspicious of my intentions."

Akilah flinched somewhat then blushed as it came full circle what he stopped her from doing. She turned away sharply and flamed embarrassment at the depths below. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For burdening you with my problems. You need not have interfered; no one would have blamed you."

"I know." She heard him move closer. "I took the time to save you before because you helped me. Consider this as making us even."

He was at her side now, watching the city landscape expand before them. She bit her lower lip when their elbows brushed. "You-You're the one, aren't you? Who killed Abul Nuqoud?" He nodded. She flicked her fingers together then looked at him. "How did he kill them?"

He returned her stare. "Poisoning the wine. Those who were left were shot to death." He paused briefly then his eyes softened. "They all died quickly."

"But it was painful, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

Akilah sighed loudly and covered her eyes to hide the tears. That bastard Abul! Good riddance to his own demise. She dropped her hand abruptly to speak, but suddenly panicked and shoved him away. "Look out!" Her shoulder jerked violently backward, and the whiplash sent her to the floor, followed immediately by an insatiable flood of pain. "Ah! Gah, it burns!" But the stranger vanished. At first she felt abandoned, until she heard a sharp gag then he reappeared, blood dripping from his hidden blade. "It hurts."

The assassin kneeled beside her and ripped the arrow from her right shoulder. She tried to scream, but he shoved his forearm into her mouth, allowing her to bite down on the leather guard. He worked quickly to bandage the hole with pieces of his robes, and it proved enough time for her to regain her wits. "We'll need to stitch it," he informed.

"I have sowing materials in my room." She did not need to speak any further as he hauled her up into his arms and jumped onto the ledge.

* * *

The room remained silent as his skilled fingers worked to tie the broken skin together. Guards never lingered near her room while she slept; she forbade it years ago. Still, the silence felt necessary as Akilah pressed her hand over her chest to keep her robes from falling away. Her naked arm and shoulder faced the assassin, but his focus was only on the blood and hole disfiguring her otherwise smooth flesh.

She wanted to speak to him. Would he answer? He was willing before, but would he be so willing now that they were under different circumstances? Circumstances where he stood in danger, guards positioned downstairs and on the rooftops; circumstances where _she_ stood in danger, an assassin sitting so close she felt his breath on her skin as he worked? She stared unrelentingly at his dark eyes, but he never looked back.

Then, as if her mouth worked without reliance on her mind, she spoke. "You're one of Al Mualim's assassins." He glanced at her now, but she did not look away. "Aren't you?"

He continued to watch her eyes, and she knew he searched for a sign of fear or ill intentions. She felt neither. He must have agreed, because he went back to work. "Yes."

Akilah withheld a smile, but she felt a relief fill her eyes. "What's your name?"

He ignored her.

"You have many secrets, Assassin. Since I have gone to painful lengths to keep you safe and in one piece, I think it's all right to assume I shant divulge your identity to the nearest party."

He didn't respond.

She sighed and moved her eyes to some unparticular place in the room. "Then why did you become an assassin? Are there some special requirements you have to fulfill to be allowed into the Brotherhood or whatever you call it?"

Silence.

Akilah smiled. "Very well. Then I shall call you Aasim! Aasim means protector, yes?" She faced him again. "Do you like that name, Aasim?"

He stitched like she was a satchel bag that was incapable of speaking.

"Aasim, you are a man of few words. I understand. And I understand you could not save the guests are Abul Nuqoud's palace. You were just and righteous in taking his life, and I commend you for your headstrong fearlessness!" She made a fist with her other hand and pressed it flat against her heart. "Aasim the Protector!"

The assassin tied off the stitch, ignoring her wince as he did so. "Don't call me that."

Akilah tilted her head. "Why not?"

"Because it is not my name and I am not a protector." He wrapped the bloody bandages into a wad, dumped them into a bowl, and stood to place the bowl on the desk across the room. "Just because I saved your life and happened to kill the man who killed your father, don't assume that I am good and safe. I am an assassin, trained to kill those who are eviler than I. I am vastly more dangerous to you than anyone who might come into your life."

Akilah chuckled. "I very much doubt that, Aasim. You are no more dangerous than my dearest friend and personal guard, Nasir."

"You've seen me take a life." He turned only enough to make eye contact. "You know I can and will kill everyone in this house then escape without stirring even a small rat."

Akilah sighed patiently and pulled her robe back up onto her shoulder. "What you can and will do for the sake of your creed is one thing. But you forget about what you _want_ to do. To me, whether you kill me or not, I know you don't want to, and that's my only concern. I'm not capable of fearing death in your presence, Aasim."

He watched her slip back into full dress, a silence filling the room like before. He frowned. "You already know too much. I shouldn't have saved you in the market, whether you helped me or not. You're trying to involve yourself where you're not meant to linger."

"Perhaps." She raised her arm slowly to test the pain. "But I go where I must and do what is right. There is no other life I can bring myself to live." She stopped moving at the words. Was she living? Being with this assassin changed things for her, more significantly than she previously took note of. Had she gone, in the matter of a single encounter, from being alive to truly living?

"You speak such words, but I saw differently on the palace rooftops tonight."

Akilah felt her first twinge of anger toward him. "That's none of your business. Assassins do not grieve over the loss of brothers?"

She expected no response, but he answered lowly, "Yes, we do."

Her eyes traveled to him. He stared at her, eyes dark and heavy, barely visible beneath the pointed hood. His hands clenched at his sides, tight around the brown leather. That's when she noticed. "Oh my God." She jumped up from the bed, rushed to him, and pulled his left hand up to her face. "What happened?"

His eyes didn't leave her face. "It's for the assassin blade. The third finger from the thumb is cut off to accommodate the blade extension." He turned his hand over and used his other index finger to draw an invisible line from the sheathed blade to the missing finger. "This way, we don't hurt ourselves in an attack, or get in the way of the kill."

Akilah traced her fingers over the lines of his palm, beneath his missing finger, and down to the sharp blade. "Ingenious." She blushed and snapped her head up. "Awful! But ingenious. Is the hidden blade the primary weapon of the assassin?"

"But of course," he replied, watching her as always, though with a new touch to his eyes. "A concealed weapon is always the greatest. It is the one a target never knows until it pierces his flesh."

She nodded, eyes intense. "That makes sense, I suppose." Her fingers reached forward and touched one of the knives at his waist. "And these?"

"Knives," he answered, swiftly grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from the blades, "are of better use with a larger weapon than they are alone."

"Oh." She tried to subdue another blush, but the warmth rising in her face could not be concealed. "So does that make me a knife and you the sword, Aasim?"

He didn't answer again, nor did he release her slim wrist. His eyes studied hers unremittingly, silence echoing on and on for what seemed like minutes but truly were only moments, and then he spoke. "Altaïr." She lifted her eyebrows. "My name is Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad."

She breathed slowly. "Altaïr." Her mouth tweaked. "Flying Eagle. How fitting. And the Son of None."

He nodded. "That is who I am as a member of the Brotherhood and student to Al Mualim. I am not a man, daughter of Latif Sharif. I am an eagle that flies when he must, and I disappear as easily and willingly as an orphaned child. I am not the protector you illusion me to be."

Akilah's heart pumped all-too-quickly; not from fear, but anxiousness. Maybe even excitement. She tugged at her wrist, and he let her have it without a fight. "My name is Akilah Sharif. I am the only daughter of Latif Sharif. I am unmarried, a scholar, and recently head of my own household." She smiled slightly. "I am also a renowned nonconformist." His eyebrows twitched, like he might smile with them, but he didn't. "So you see, I am not the dainty daughter of wealth you illusion me to be—"

"I never illusioned you to be dainty," he replied slyly. "A woman who would willingly hide a strange man in her bedroom while he runs from the law is anything but dainty, Akilah Sharif."

Akilah giggled. "And any man who runs from the law is clearly no protector, is that your next point?"

"It might be."

"Any man who kills a man who murdered dozens of innocent people is no villain either. And any man who saves a mere woman—"

"You are no mere woman," he interrupted, leaning only just toward her.

She couldn't bring herself to argue any further. He said exactly what she always wanted to believe, what she wanted others to see but couldn't, to acknowledge but wouldn't. Yet he knew. This complete stranger; an assassin.

Akilah raised her hands carefully, glancing at his face to make sure he was not displeased, and touched his waistband. She didn't move to touch the knives again, but traced her hands around his body to his back. The step closer to reach the buckle brought her almost as close to him as they had once been—at the castle, in her room—but she didn't look at him now, and he continued to watch her motionlessly. She managed to unhook the wide belt and slowly withdrew it from around him, knives, sword, and all. She didn't waste time admiring the shiny, well-carved blades hidden in the leather, but simply placed the belt and scabbard on the desk. Beneath the waistband was a crimson sash tying his robes close.

She looked up at him now and saw no sign of caution or disapproval on his face. Next, she cautiously unbuckled the sheath strapped across his chest then placed the short sword beside the other weapons. His left leather armguard came free easily enough, and she worked to unlatch the metallic brace secured over his left forearm—his hidden blade arm. She no longer looked at his face for assurance, certain he would make his protests apparent enough if he felt compelled. The guard was set beside the line of weapons until only the hidden blade remained. She paused.

"You've killed many people with this blade, haven't you?"

"Many."

"Any who were innocent?"

He didn't speak.

Akilah took a slow, deep breath then took his palm in her hands, traced from his fingers down to his wrist and ending at the blade. "This blade is what makes you an assassin. Makes you feel you are not a man, but a necessary evil to right those _truly_ evil." She slipped the blade free, unhooked the leather guard, and set them both on the desk. Her eyes met his once more. "Now it's gone." She reached up both hands, cupped them beneath his hood, and threw it back. His face never looked more handsome, head shaved down to a thick dark patch of hair, eyes charcoal black like the scruffy goatee running around the thin scar on his lips. She smiled. "Now you are just a man. Altaïr."

Altaïr never blinked as she spoke; he only continued to watch her. Now that he stood weaponless before her, and she stared attentively back at him with a smile, he moved. His callous fingertips brushed her cheek gently then slowly pulled down her sash. His eyes noticeably watched her now-visible lips as she rubbed them together nervously. He pushed back the veil of her hair and ran his large fingers through the thick black mass. It felt good to be touched so differently, so tenderly. She closed her eyes at the feeling the contact stirred in her.

"Now you are just a woman." She opened her eyes once more, and his lips pulled at the corners. "Akilah."

Akilah liked the way he said that—all barriers dropped between them. And as they smiled, he stretched forth a steady hand, curled it around her waist, and pressed her flat against the front of him. His body was like solid rock, but more enticing were the perfectly curved lips that pressed down on hers. She had never been kissed before, but the action felt absolutely right. She would wonder later if the action was not quite as new to him as it was to her, but for now, she only thrilled in the knowledge at how very right it felt.

Altaïr's ghosted footsteps lead them unconsciously to the bedside where he dipped her back onto the silks and pillows. He remained standing long enough to strip himself of his hood, sash, and robes then crawled atop her. His mouth found hers quickly, and she cupped the back of his bare neck with both hands. Somehow, touching his bare skin thrilled her. Not many people would ever see this much of him, would touch his flesh. Those who did met a quick and bloody end, she was certain. But he allowed her to; he wanted her to.

He moaned softly against her mouth then broke away as they both gasped for breath. "Akilah," he spoke, trying to sound calm, but the unsteady breath he used to speak the word told her otherwise.

"Altaïr?" she replied, not releasing her hold on his neck.

He stared at her again. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she questioned, allowing one of her hands to wander so she might rid him of his worn white tunic.

"You know I shouldn't do this. I'll have to kill you in the morning for seeing my face."

"Then kill me in the morning." She pulled the tunic from his pants and met his eyes. "In the morning you will be an assassin once more. But now, you are Altaïr the man. And he is mine." She pulled the tunic up, and he allowed her to yank it over his head.

"You play a dangerous game, woman." He pressed his left hand against her cheek, holding their gaze as her fingernails brushed over his chest. She was completely coherent of his every being, yet she did not cringe when the gap of his missing finger touched her face. She only smiled softly. "You should be more careful who you cast your spells on. One day it may lead to your death, Akilah." And he kissed her soundly once more, inhaling the flowery scent of her.

_End Part 1_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Creed: Part 2  
**_

Akilah arched her back, pressing her tender breasts and slender stomach against his lean torso, and moaned sleepily. His hand caressed her back as he used the other to prop his head up on his elbow. The sunlight through the window veils barely touched them in the morning sunrise, but the extra warmth it created made her brush her face against his shoulder. She was tired, but not ill-tempered. According to society, being with a man who was not one's husband brewed guilt and self-loathing for the blasphemous act, but as far as she could tell there was nothing loathsome about it. What good was the title of husband if he did not touch her the way Altaïr did? If he did not hold her close? Or kiss her with passion and unbridled desire? Yes, she doubted very seriously any man she ever married would make her feel the way this man's "loathsome" embrace did.

Altaïr kissed her shoulder, her neck, then her temple. "I must go," he whispered, but there was no urgency in his voice.

"How can you?" she teased, pressing a palm against chest. "I still live."

He smirked. "You make too lightly of the danger you put yourself in. I may be unarmed, but I am not defenseless."

"Mm." She rose up onto her elbow as well and smiled when he unabashedly stared over her naked skin. "Nor am I." Their eyes met then laughed. "Don't be afraid. I promise I won't seduce you straight to your grave."

"I doubt you could avoid doing so, Akilah."

She smiled at the sound of her name on his lips then kissed him. "Go," she breathed between light caresses. "You are an assassin by day. To show your face in light would defy your role."

Altaïr did not seem to be listening to her as he flattened his hand on her back and kissed down her neck to her collarbone. But as he kissed the top of her breasts, he lifted his head slowly and captured her lips once more. "I must go." His hand glided from her back to her cheek, lingered briefly, and then he stood to dress himself.

Akilah made no movement to look away from his uncovered body, but after a few moments of admiring, her mind shifted. "You must report back to Al Mualim of your success?"

"Yes."

"And where is this guild you call home?"

Altaïr glanced at her without stopping in his dressing. "Do you intend to follow me?"

She laughed. "I dare say not. I'm not brave enough to test that far into your restraint."

"A wise decision."

Still, she quirked an eyebrow. "Do you intend to kill more people? More city officials, I mean?"

"I do what is necessary." He was now fully robbed and strapped the first of his equipment to his body. "You said it yourself last night. 'I go where I must and do what is right. There is no other life I can bring myself to live.' Right?"

She nodded. "Right." Akilah wrapped herself in one of the silk sheets and walked over to him. He faced her approach, but continued dressing without any further reaction. She smiled; he was comfortable with her. She waited until he secured the final weapon—the assassin blade—then glided her hands over the firm leather. "And so, Assassin, this is where we go our separate ways." She yanked firmly on the short sword sheath across his chest, and it held tight, but the force set the triangular lock to the right side of his chest, angling the sword at a perfect drawing angle. She looked up at him and pulled the hood snuggly over his head. "Go."

It was amazing how very different Altaïr seemed once his hood was up; truly a man divided by his duty and his life. Still, he raised his leathered hand and pressed it against her face. Again, she did not shy away from the gap between his fingers. She laid her hand atop his, and he tilted his forehead down against hers. "Safety and peace, Akilah."

She took a deep breath. "Safety and peace…Altaïr."

Then he took flight out the window and disappeared amongst the shadowed rooftops.

* * *

Akilah tucked her veil more securely across her face. It felt strange to wear it when Altaïr had taken every opportunity to touch and stare at her face and kiss her lips. But, she had an image to maintain and, also awkward to accept, a household to maintain. She still grieved her father's death, but the more she pondered it, the angrier she became. Some powerful group, the puppeteers behind Abul Nuqoud, robbed her of what little time granted with her father. Yet, there was little she could do in the current circumstances. She needed experience; she needed facts; she needed teachers.

Akilah pushed the door open and bowed her head. "Pardon my tardiness. I was detained by an impressing affair at home."

Her uncle stood from his desk, gawking only just, and blinked. "Akilah. You should be at home, grieving."

She met his gaze and took her seat. "A generous offer, Uncle. My father has passed, and the house is now in my charge. I will have time to grieve at the end of the day. Now, shall we begin?" She arranged her texts, feigning obliviousness to everyone's unfailing eyes.

A few moments of awkward silence followed before her uncle stood and cleared his throat. "All right. Let's continue yesterday's lecture on the church." The students gradually altered their attention to him, particularly when Akilah listened intently and continued to ignore their inquiring gawks.

The study passed without further incident, but the smoothness was almost _too_ calm. No snide remarks came at her, no one argued or voiced their opinions, no scolding emanated from her uncle. She found the lecture oddly more alluring than before, but the apparent attempt at pacifism annoyed her. Just yesterday these men barked at her like she was a dog; now, they passed sympathetic and curious eyes at her, as if she was a sad anomaly.

In truth, she had not come to the study simple because her image should be maintained. She was not sure, but somehow, now that she reflected back on it, she felt that her father's constant persistence was intended for a moment like this—so she would not be a poor woman with nothing to fall back on if she was left alone. Even in death, he looked out for her. He truly was the greatest father.

Her uncle dismissed the class for the afternoon, but he detained her as the other students filed out. "How are you?" he asked. His voice was not exactly tender; he sounded more suspicious than sympathetic, like a scientist listening for important factoids for his next thesis. But, that was his way. He rarely sounded emotional, but his eyes spoke differently.

Akilah smiled. "I am better. It would seem Allah has a way of smiling on every grief."

He nodded, though it was merely subconscious; he was not approving of anything she said, only acknowledging she spoke. "Do you intend to maintain your lessons now that Latif is gone?"

"I should think that apparent with my appearance today."

"Appearances can be deceiving." He tilted his head. "You don't need to feel inclined because you have lingering commitments to your father. He's gone. If you don't wish to continue your studies, there's no shame in—"

"Make no mistake, Uncle," Akilah interjected firmly, though her tone did not rise. "I have always found your lectures of the utmost brilliance, though I scarcely understood the reasoning for my comprehending them. Now that Father is gone, I understand his wishes and agree; I do not submit to them from _guilt_." She said the word like it created a bitter taste in her mouth. "Unless you intend to kick me out, I intend to continue coming."

Her uncle studied her silently for several long moments then nodded. "Very well. If you are willing, so shall I be." He smiled, not just politely, as he usually did, but now with an unfamiliar sense of acceptance. "If you need anything, Akilah, do not hesitate to ask. I am responsible for you now, and we are the only family the other has now. Understand?"

She breathed a steadying, comforted breath. "I understand, Uncle."

"Good." He withdrew his smile, clearing his throat uncomfortably, and went back to his desk. "Good day, Akilah."

Akilah tried not to laugh at his apparent discomfort with affection. "_Actually_, Uncle. There is something I'd like to know." He glanced at her. "What can you tell me about a man named Al Mualim?"

* * *

The house was quiet; too quiet; silent enough to deafen. Where was Nasir? Where were the other guards? Was it night out? It seemed so dark in the silence of her home. She entered her room, expecting moonlight to focus her eyes to something distinguishable, and it did. A man stood in the balcony doorway, concealed behind a white robe and shadow. She could not see them, but she knew his dark eyes stared straight at her. It must be him! She stepped toward him, chest lifting in relief, but no sooner did she see him that a hand clasped over her mouth and drew her back out of the room, away from the white figure, and into the darkness of a world that no longer contained her home—only shadows.

* * *

Akilah rose sharply in her bed, eyes instantly and urgently adjusting to the sunlight beginning to wink across the horizon. She watched the closed and bolted door, half expecting Altaïr to materialize there, but her anxiousness faded as her breath slowed, and a logical awareness began to sink in. He was not there; he would never be there.

A month passed since she last saw him, and still she expected him to reemerge before her like he never left. Silly, really. An assassin made no ties to anyone outside his guild, of that she was certain. To do so would complicate things, for the assassin and the accomplice.

Akilah rose and dressed for the day then went downstairs to meet Nasir and the other guards. To be honest, she acquitted some of the men on account of being incapable of paying them enough to live, but they shunned her closure and remained, provided she cooked them meals. She agreed reluctantly, not because they burdened her, but because her father raised her never to accept charity—as much as they denied it, she knew that was exactly what their loyalty was: charity. Still, it halfway set her mind at ease. Since her father's passing, the city guards became more bold and restless toward her. Having her own men at arm's length protected her from further harassment.

Nasir rose from his place at the table and bowed. "Mistress. Good morning. I trust you slept well?"

That had not happened in over a week. After asking her uncle about Al Mualim, he gave her just enough information to not raise any suspicions, but it alternately sparked her curiosity. She made connections the following weeks, and the knowledge obtained didn't settle well. Something about Al Mualim discomforted her, even though few had negative things to say of him. Perhaps it was her personal involvement, but she doubted she could truly trust the intentions of any man who would send countless men out to spy and kill—to play with pawns was much different than being one. Since her displeasure arose, nightmares plagued her on a regular basis. As if Altaïr were forbidden to her; they were forever separated by some force, some human force that did not want her getting close to him.

"Fine," she responded casually. "I need to go to the market, Nasir. Do you mind watching the house for me while I'm gone?"

"Of course not," he replied, but a tension resided in his voice.

Akilah glanced at him. "Is something wrong?"

He checked absently to ensure no one listened in then lowered his voice. "It's just, the assassinations have not ceased, Mistress. I constantly fear for your safety is all."

She heard about these kills. A little over a week after Altaïr left, William of Montferrat, Regent Lord of Acre, was slain amongst his palace walls, shortly after the departure of King Richard the Lionheart. Last week, Majd Addin, Saladin's Regent in Jerusalem, met a similar fate during the execution of prisoners—innocent prisoners. Akilah grieved neither, nor felt great pride in their demise. There was no reason to believe it other than experience, but she knew Altaïr was behind the murders. Altaïr followed the orders of Al Mualim, and Al Mualim had something to prove to the Templars; yet another valuable piece of information she collected.

"I'm not concerned with officials, Nasir. I can handle myself." Her eyes flickered mischievously. "You've seen to that."

Nasir frowned, clearly unhappy with the truth of her statement, but continued. "Be mindful of Jubair and his minions, Mistress. There is great tension stirring amongst the scholars of late."

She nodded. "I shall, Nasir. You worry too much." She retrieved some coins and set on her way. It did not take long to reach the market from her house, and the effect of Jubair's recent slew was not hard to spot. She ignored the guards rallying to remove a mound of books from someone's house and continued onward into the market. Vendors eagerly thrust their merchandise at her, shouting promises and enticements to any who passed. She glanced occasionally, but did not stop until she reached Talak and his flower trolley.

"Miss Akilah!" Talak beamed and extended a bouquet of blue and pink flowers at her. "Another week and still you come! You are my family's greatest supporter, Ma'am."

Akilah smiled and accepted the flowers. "I only shop at the best places. What other place would do as my first stop?" She winked playfully then leaned her head down to him. "What news, Talak?"

Talak could not suppress a grin. He enjoyed being the middle man, searching and acquiring information so he might transmit it to a higher authority. "Jubair and his scholars are scouring the city for any texts, so they may burn them. He tells the people they are evil and full of lies."

She quirked an eyebrow. "A scholar suggests texts are full of lies?"

"Yes ma'am. Some say he suffers from paranoia; others that he works to undermine the people's intelligence so as the Chief Scholar he might be the true leader of The Illuminated."

Akilah's mind absently trailed to her uncle and his recent cancellation of lectures. It made sense. "Good work, Talak." She withdrew coins for the flowers and the information and deposited them in his palm. "I'll see you next week, hm?" She resisted the urge to wink at him again, but touched his shoulder fondly and walked to the next vendors.

"Hey boy!" barked a guard. "Where did you get all those coins!"

Akilah stopped at a nearby booth and pretended to shop, but watched the scene from the corner of her eye. Three guards hovered around Talak, though not much over him—the boy grew faster than the flowers he tended. One guard turned his back to the scene and eyed the people walking by, but no one dared to meet his gaze. The other two came on either side of Talak.

"Business is good today," Talak replied, pocketing the coins as he ducked his head to avoid insulting the pushy men. "I was just about to leave."

"If business is so good, why leave?" The guard on his left grabbed his wrist and yanked Talak's hand out of his pocket. "You dirty thief! You dare to steal in our presence!"

"No, wait!" Talak protested, but the other guard grabbed the other arm and they wrestled to subdue him. "Please, I've done nothing wrong!"

Akilah clenched her fists into her garments, took a step toward them, and then stopped. It would not do well to make a scene in front of so many people; they would recognize her. She bit her bottom lip reluctantly and stepped back into the crowd that carried her further down the market.

* * *

"Stupid boy," one guard laughed and patted the fresh coins in his pocket. "He should know better than to throw around money like that in front of us."

"But his stupidity is our gain," another grinned, counting out his pieces.

The third guard smirked. "Like anyone would save him anyway. Did you see the look on his face when you trampled his flowers?! What a sap. As long as we're around, we rule, and that boy better learn fast or—oof!" The guard fell flat on his back, instantly unconscious, and gawked stupidly up at the ceiling.

The others jumped to alert, but the darkness of the alley concealed the attacker from recognition. They drew their swords, but it made little difference when their heads collided, and they both collapsed in a tangle of limbs.

Akilah quickly searched their pockets for the coins, placed them back in her pouch, and hurried away back into the market. She spotted Talak's ruined booth, and her bag inconspicuously dropped from her arms and onto a pile of withering flower petals.

* * *

An hour later, Nasir raised an eyebrow at the empty-handed woman. "You went to the market but didn't buy anything?"

"Nothing looked good," Akilah replied nonchalantly. "I think we'll have a feast tomorrow instead. That should satisfy you." She passed him a quick smile then left the room. "I'm going to study a few hours. Disturb me only if we have guests."

"Yes ma'am."

She did not intend to study a line; her uncle's private tutoring sessions placed her well ahead of the class. Studying took a new impression in the last month. It no longer hindered her emotions or troubled her mind, but rather expanded her developing sense of understanding the past, surviving the present, and predicting the future. The knowledge appeased her astoundingly.

Akilah bolted the door behind her and glanced at the pile of papers littered across her desk. She had been behind schedule this morning, and usually the disarray of her belongings called her to pause and restore order; however, in the past few days, the chaos of even the simplest things intrigued her. Disorder gave a new perspective to her world.

She crossed the room and stepped out onto the balcony. The guards continued to increase everyday, with the assassination of six notable names over such a short period of time. The men were more aggressive than usual, constantly agitated, and she could hardly blame them. At any moment, their lives might end in the protection of a mere schemer. In an abstract way, she felt sorry for their paranoid existence alongside fellow doubters.

Well, sometimes she felt sorry for them.

"Akilah!" beckoned a soldier from a rooftop across the street. "Have you finally come to satisfy my desire?"

"I've no time for married men," she retorted lightly. "Meet me in the next life, if Allah deems you worthy."

"If Allah deems _you_ worthy, woman! Treasure this opportunity!"

He chuckled, and she suppressed a smile. Vulgarity ran alongside a soldier's occupation, but she knew most of it was playful frenzy—all boast and no balls. She leaned on the balcony and inhaled. Dust was heavy in the air; something brewed elsewhere in the city.

"A serious quarrel?" questioned a voice from the canopy over her room.

"They were close to exchanging blows, I hear," another replied. "The man is a head scholar, but Jubair insists the texts be destroyed. Neither will give up easily."

Were they talking about her uncle? He had been reclusive and fierce as of late, and any talk of Jubair set him in a heated frenzy. It must be him.

"But Jubair is the head of The Illuminated and the chief scholar. He'll get his way, even if he must dispose of an obstacle or two."

Akilah's eyes flinched. She paused only a second then casually reentered the room and closed the door. When the latch was fastened, she darted across the room, yanked her door open, and cascaded down the stairs into the kitchen. "Nasir, I'm going to visit Uncle! Guard the house!"

"What's happening, ma'am?" he asked in a flurry and rushed to the door as she barreled out and down the street. "Akilah!"

* * *

_BANG BANG BANG_ on the door, the small fist pounding against the sturdy wooden barricade on iron hinges. Only a moment's pause then _BANG BANG BANG_ again.

The door grunted then groaned as it swung open. Akilah's uncle poked his head out, eyes dark and furious, but when they saw her flushed face, his features softened instantly to the calm concern he often wore. "Akilah? What is it, child?"

"Uncle," Akilah spoke, voice firm and authoritative, like a mother preparing to scold her child. "What have you been saying to Jubair?"

He frowned, but stepped aside to let her in, and she did. "Jubair does not concern you. And why are you still wandering the city without an escort? How many times must I stress the growing dangers of the city?"

"Until you learn to follow your own advice." She let him close the door behind them then faced him. "Your dispute with Jubair is coming to a close, Uncle. I understand your attachment to the writings, but are they truly worth your life?"

"Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?" He smiled at her downcast eyes. "I cannot allow Jubair to steal these treasures of opportunity from our descendants. Knowledge is a gift, not a luxury. As such, someone _must_ stand up to defend these irreplaceable jewels. If no one else will, what other choice do I have?"

She shushed him with a wave of her hand and raised her eyes disapprovingly. "You play a dangerous game, Uncle. Is the loss of my father not enough to satisfy your need for caution?" He jolted. She firmed her jaw and squared her shoulders. "Safety and peace." And she hurried out into the street without a response.

* * *

She shouldered past people and shoved loiterers aside, ignoring every outburst and glare they threw at her. The hot sun blinded her frantic sprint, but on and on she ran before her shoulder collided into a corner. That moment allowed her to catch her bearings, and she found herself in the market. The high noon hour left the market heavily clustered with frantic buyers and sellers; it was no wonder she got forced into the wall.

Akilah ducked her head away from a patrolling guard. He didn't appear to notice her, but she recognized him from the trouble with Talak. She slipped amongst a group of pot carriers and drifted further into the market.

She had not meant to say those things to her uncle. He never came close to being a father figure, but that did not make him any less dear to her. He was the most important person to her now; she could not lose him like she had her father. She wouldn't survive it this time.

The thoughts plagued her subconscious steps until she stopped for a crossing wagon. That's when she saw it, across the road and moving away with the crowd—a white hood, with a short sword scabbard strapped across the wearer's back.

Akilah pushed the women aside, slipped behind the wagon, and dove into the cluster of citizens between her and the shrinking sword-barer. "Aasim!" The hood disappeared, and she struggled to rip the people from her path. "Aasim! Wait! Aasim!"

She suddenly flew off the street into a dark alleyway and behind a barricade of crates. She blinked up into the sharpened black eyes. "Altaïr."

Altaïr's grip on her shoulders loosened at the sight of her, but his face did not soften. "You draw too much attention, to both of us."

"I'm sorry." She said it habitually, but she really did mean it. "What're you doing here? When did you arrive? Are you hiding?" He diverted his eyes, and her adrenaline slowly dissolved. "Did Al Mualim send you?" Her tone was disapproving.

Altaïr released her and turned. "Keep out of it."

"Wait!" She grabbed his elbow, but the next moment her body slammed backwards into the statue of crates. Pain filled her head from the shove, and she looked up at him.

Altaïr glared severely at her, eyes dark beneath the low hood. "Stay out of my way." He turned and slipped back into the crowd.

Akilah's eyelids fluttered collectively at his disappearance, and then she touched the back of her head. The contact made her wince, and her fingertips withdrew baring a faint crimson red.

* * *

"You will be hanged for your defiance!" shouted a man branding the navy garments of Jubair's henchmen. "The orders of Jubair are unquestionable! Stand aside, peasant!"

"The owner of this house is not at home," replied Nasir dryly, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He and the other guards stood like statues in front of the entrance to the home. "You may not enter, stranger. I don't care if Salahuddin himself sent you."

"Impudent swine! Very well, we'll go through you!" The soldiers rushed forward at the indirect command, drew their swords, and seized the guards.

"Nasir!" shouted Akilah, approaching the scene. "What's going on here?!"

"Jubair has ordered the obtainment and burning of all texts," replied the henchman astutely. "These men are under arrest for defying the law and rebelling against the great Salahuddin."

"I demand you release them at once! They are _my_ personal guard, and this is my home! I shall appeal on their behalf!"

"Miss Akilah!" Nasir yanked against his captors and met her eyes. "You cannot give them the texts! Your father died so you might have them! You cannot give them the pages!" A soldier struck him hard with the hilt of his sword across the back of the skull.

"Nasir!" Akilah stepped for him, but the henchman held her back. "Nasir!"

"Take them away!" ordered the henchman, and the guards were dragged down the street.

Akilah shoved the henchman back and planted herself in the doorway. "You are not welcome here, vultures. Leave, immediately."

"Infidel! Stand aside!"

"I will not."

"You _will_ or you will die."

She stationed herself. "See if you can prove it." The soldiers rushed her unbeckoned. She punched one between the eyes and took his half-drawn sword to block the overhead swing on her right. Her foot knocked the disarmed soldier onto his back, and she spiraled the attacker's weapon away from her own. His brief disorientation allowed her to thrust her blade clean through his right shoulder, but she quickly drew it out and swung a graceful strike at the soldier in front. He blocked it easily enough and returned her blow. She crossed steel with him and twisted her wrist, bringing her and the man within inches of one another. She stole a dagger from his waistband and swiped at him, cutting a clean line blood across his cheek. They separated in his hysteria, and her sword hilt pounded soundly against his temple.

Akilah lunged back to the doorway and pointed the bloody dagger at the single remaining henchman. "This is my home. Tell Jubair, if he wants my family's pages, he can try and take them himself."

The henchman glared. "You will pay for this treachery." He looked around at the bleeding men, turned, and marched away into the street. The men followed.

Akilah watched them until they turned down a new road out of sight, but she didn't lower her weapons. She stepped back into the house and slammed the door.

* * *

The dream again. A silent house, empty and black. She entered her room, ready for the cloaked figure perched on her balcony. But as she stepped inside, she met only moonlight. Was this dream supposed to be different? Where was he? She walked toward the balcony, but a glint to the right caught her eye. "Gah!"

Akilah stared, wide-eyed and gawking, up into the face of a man. It was a man she didn't recognize. He was old and heavily wrinkled, cloaked in dark but familiar robes, with a long white beard contrasting his bronzed skin. And his eyes, concealed but glossy. His blade pierced through her stomach, and he smiled softly at her pained expression. "There is a difference in what we are _told_ to be true, and what we _see_ to be true. Isn't that right, Akilah?"

* * *

Akilah's eyes flashed open, but she did not stir. Her mind raced frantically to and fro, but a moment later, a sound caught her attention. Someone lurked in the room with her. She slowly reached beneath a pillow, feeling the cold wooden handle encompass her palm. Closer. A little closer. Behind her now, just a little off. She heard a faint _pang_ then swung about and thrust the dagger straight into the stranger's throat. The soldier gagged, sword-drawn hands collapsing upon him instantly, and fell down amongst her pillows. "Jubair, you coward."

She leapt stealthily to her feet and crossed the room to the door, closing and locking it silently. A large parcel sat on her desk, and she tied it down on her back. Inside were the books and pages from her studies, the only possession worth rescuing if nothing else survived. She suspected Jubair would send someone and readied her belongings for a quick escape.

Akilah peeked briefly through the window sash, checking for soldiers, and only spotted one. He patrolled across the street, but his back was turned to her as he scanned the cityscape. She unbolted the balcony door, glanced at the soldier once more, and vaulted over the ledge into the street below. She landed surprisingly silent atop a vendor's empty stall then climbed down and hurried away from the soldier, and the troops storming up the stairs to her vacant room.

There was only one place left to go, one place that might be safe.

* * *

Akilah looked both ways up and down the street then tiptoed to the other side. A guard stood on the far corner, but he took no notice of her as his head bobbed sleepily. She crept to the end of the alley and poked her head down the next street, expecting to see the reassuring sight of her uncle's academy. But standing in its place was a coliseum of roaring flames and flowing smoke as the sky around it rained ashes.

Her breath stopped, and she dropped the bag. "Uncle." He was dead.

Dead. Like her father. Probably like Nasir. Like her mother. Like her home.

"Uncle." She took a shaky breath as the knowledge settled into her. "Uncle!"

But as she took a step toward the destruction, a hand closed over her mouth, and something struck the back of her head. All she could make out were narrowed black eyes, then her world collapsed into darkness.

* * *

**Avs**: Hey everybody! Sorry, I know this took a while. I had finals and about eight 10+ pg papers due, and I've been out of town most of the break, so I do apologize. Last two years of college don't leave a lotta time for free-writing, but I'll try to hurry with the last part. I have several other stories going on as well, since I usually write originals, but I'm very thankful for all the readers on this project! You've been very supportive, and I'm glad you like the story thus far. There will be one last section to add, and then this story will come to a close. Unless I feel the next Assassin's Creed game allows me room to continue onward. But until then! One more chapter to go! Yea! :D


	3. Chapter 3

_**Creed: Part 3**_

_Am I dead? I don't think so._ She winced. _That pain feels real enough. Then again, Christians believe in Hell, a place _full_ of pain. Which doesn't bode well for me._ Akilah slowly opened one eye and stared up at the black ceiling. She quirked a brow. _Hm. I expected something a little more climatic._ She opened both eyes and scanned the dark surroundings. It was a bedroom, small but certainly large enough for one occupant. She could not see much with the shutters pulled, but her eyes did make out a vendor's cart at the foot of the sleeping space. _Where am I?_

Then she remembered the sharp, unprecedented pain ailing the back of her skull. And the school! _Uncle!_

There was a shout from the other room, and footsteps stomped quickly toward her. She vaulted off the pillows, crossed the room, and pressed her back flat against the wall; the doorway opened to her left.

A man entered and roused the room with light as he thrust the shutters open, and a brilliant white sun covered each accessible inch. He was tall and bulky, but dark and wrinkled from heavy sun exposure. The full black-gray beard reached the center his broad, bulging chest. He faced the bed and threw his arms out, but faultered. "Where is she?"

"Papa!" Talak crossed the doorway and entered the light, his younger face and tall frame appearing awkward next to the older, leaner man.

The first man glanced at Talak and only then noticed Akilah standing in the corner with her posture ready to strike. He beamed and threw his arms open. "Greetings, Lady Akilah! What a joy it is to finally meet you! Talak has told me much about you." He offered one of his enormous hands to her. "You are an honored guest."

Akilah hesitated, not accustom to the concept of shaking hands, but accepted the offer. "Thank you, Master—"

"Kasib."

"Kasib. But, where am I?"

"We saw Jubair's guards try to take you away!" Talak interjected anxiously. "We rescued you and brought you to our home. We hoped you suffered no serious injuries?"

"None that I can feel." She flinched. "Wait. My package! The package I carried, do you have it?"

"Of course," replied Kasib. "It's in the other room, under our flower arrangements. We didn't look inside, but we thought it best to keep it hidden, just to be safe."

Akilah exhaled slowly. "Your thoughts serve you well, Master Kasib."

"Is it of great value, Miss Akilah?" asked Talak.

"The greatest. I need you to keep it hidden here, Master Kasib. I must leave for a short while."

"Must you?" Kasib inquired lowly. His eyes were heavily suspicious, narrowed cunningly at her dark orbs, but he nodded. "You have supported my family and saved my son from those loathsome soldiers. Anything you need that we can provide, we shall."

Akilah could not hide a gracious smile. "Thank you. Don't worry; no one will be able to trace me to you. You will be safe." She glanced at Talak then touched his shoulder. "If soldiers come, dispose of the bag. It's not worth your life. Understand?" He nodded. "Good." She bowed at Kasib then turned and swept out of the room.

* * *

"You must give up these blasphemous writings! They are full of lies, and will lead you down a wicked path from which you cannot turn back! Come, bring forth these vessels of sin, so you might save yourselves and your family! Do not be afraid!"

A crowd of people already gathered around the small garden entrance to better hear and see Jubair's exuberant proclamations. He stood behind a large pile of burning parchments and bound leather. The smell was strange, like charred animal skin, and several peasants covered their faces as they watched or passed the spectacle.

Akilah kept one hand secured against her veil and the other inside the straw basket tucked under her right arm. No one distinguished her amongst the crowd, and she managed to cross the poor district into the middle district without arousing attention.

She slowly worked her way up to the front of the crowd, but could venture no further with the two guards easily filling the small entranceway. There was no way to get around them discretely, and no distinct ulterior routes in. She would have to wait until he came out. She wanted him dead, silently if possible, but as long as his life ended, hers was worth sacrificing.

Akilah glared at Jubair. He stood there brashly, chest puffed up and arms crossed over his small chest. Pompous pig! Just wait, he would get his soon enough. _Death is coming for you, Jubair. You can't esca—_

His chest deflated abruptly, and the smug expression evaporated. He stared off blankly into the crowd, silent and immobile except for his lips. He spoke to himself, barely noticeable except for his shifting mouth, but what was he saying? What was he doing? No one else even noticed the subtle oddity.

Akilah's eyes remained glued on him, refusing to blink against the dusty heat. Something was not right; was wrong.

Then Jubair collapsed in a heap on the ground, and crouched behind him was a figure cloaked in white. Blood dripped from his left sleeve, and he swiped a white feather across Jubair's gashed neck. A peasant gasped, and both guards jerked around, drawing their swords on the attacker. "Assassin!" one shouted down the street. "An assassin!"

The crowd scattered instantly, and other soldiers fought through the mob to reach the scene. The assassin was caged in by the high walls and approaching enemies. There was no peaceful way out.

Akilah drew a knife from her basket and rammed it through the back of a soldier's throat. The other faced her, turning his back on the assassin, and the killer vaulted up the wall out of sight. She dropped her weapon, spun around, and darted out into the street. Guards closed in on both sides, and the one behind charged her.

She slipped between a stack of crates blocking off the alley, emerged out on the neighboring street, and hurried left at the sight of no guards. They would not be far behind. The crawl space was small, but they would push through. She could not go home, and she could not risk involving Talak any further. There was nowhere to run, no one to trust.

"She went this way!"

Any moment now—and she was unarmed. This was it; this was—

A hand closed over her mouth, and an arm encircled her body. She stopped breathing, but did not scream when the stranger pulled her deep into the shadows of a burned out home. Her hands reached to grab his wrist, but she quickly realized the hand over her mouth was missing a finger.

Altaïr pressed his back into the corner and pulled her spine flat against him as he tilted his head toward the street. Guards stormed past, yelling and flinging their weapons along as they pushed past the peasants to scour the street. There must have been twenty soldiers, but they quickly dissipated as they disbanded to search the alleys. The street became a hum once more.

Akilah exhaled lowly and gripped Altaïr's wrist, expecting him to release her. But he did not. "Altaïr?" His arms tightened around her shoulders and stomach, and his face pressed down into the curve of her neck, tilting against her cheek. He felt the same as that night, strong and protective, even gentle. Not like last time. She relaxed against him. "Altaïr."

The moment lingered briefly then he released her and leaned out to check the street. "The guards are confused. That should give you the distraction you need to escape." He faced her again. "I have to report to the Brotherhood." He paused. "You're no longer safe here. Even with Jubair dead, the soldiers will suspect you after your disappearance." He cupped her face, and, just the slightest bit, his eyes softened. "Meet me at the front entrance to the city. I have a horse outside."

Akilah frowned. "Where will I go? My life is here, my people here. I can't just—"

"You will make a new life, in Masyaf. You will be safe there."

"I am safe nowhere!" she hissed. "My father is dead! My uncle and guards, dead! My home is invaded and stolen from me! I've killed soldiers! Why would I be any safer in Masyaf!"

"Because it is my home," he spoke firmly, gripping her by both arms. "There is no safer place you could be. The Brotherhood is a fierce army; no one will look for you there." He stared into her eyes, his own tormented with anxiousness, then pressed his forehead against hers. "I will protect you. The Brotherhood are the only ones I can entrust you to while I am away. I have to know you are safe." He shifted one hand to her neck. "I can't again go through the torment of constantly worrying for you. I _need_ to know you are safe."

Akilah took a slow and shaky breath then tilted her head just slightly and kissed him through her veil. Her hands clutched his cloak. "I thought anyone who sees your face must die?"

He shook his head then leaned away. "Anyone but you. But I must go. I have to report my success immediately."

She nodded. "I will meet you at the gate."

"Safety and peace." He ducked his head and slipped back amongst the crowd.

Akilah checked the street only moments later, but he was gone. She cupped her hand over her veil, glanced both ways, and joined a group of passing pot carriers. She had one final thing to do before leaving Damascus and saying farewell to her home.

* * *

The guard was narrowly impenetrable across the middle and rich district, and the entrance to the poor district was completely blocked by a chain of soldiers. Akilah managed to slip through amongst some basket weavers then avoided arousing any apparent suspicion on her way to Talak's house. She knocked only once, and Kasib answered.

"Akilah, what is going on? The soldiers are on high alert."

"I have little time to speak, Master Kasib, so listen closely and speak not. The parcel I brought, is it safe?" He nodded. "I have to leave here immediately, but I would like to leave my surviving possessions to Talak. It is not safe yet, but in a week's time, if things are settled, you may open it."

"What is in it, Lady?"

"A gift." She smiled and bowed her head. "Thank you for what you've done, Master Kasib. Talak will not understand."

Kasib gripped her shoulder. "He will miss you."

She nodded, ducked her head carefully, and melted into the crowd. Leaving her books to Talak seemed genuine, but deep down she knew she did it out of guilt more than anything.

Escaping Damascus terrified her. In all her years, she had never been permitted to leave the city walls. Her father said untold dangers lingered at every corner, beneath every rock, in every shadow. She did not see how that could be, as her uncle filled her childhood with fantastical stories of places vastly beyond Damascus. She often fantasized about visiting these unknown places and sharing her own stories with her loved ones. But, if that was true, why was she suddenly so nervous about the prospect that she shook as her heart pounded blood at untold speeds throughout her body?

"Akilah."

She managed not to jump at the voice in her ear but turned. Altaïr wore a raggedy brown cloak over his hidden white robes with a topi bundled over his shaved head. He clutched her elbow, and, as he held her gaze, she felt her anxiety filtering away. "You came."

He nodded. "We must go. Now." He pulled her tight against his side, and they approached the main entrance—or in their case, the exit.

Guards lined the walkway, and four soldiers stood in a line across the final archway into the kingdom beyond. Altaïr did not slow for them. The blockage parted to allow passage for a group of scholars, and the duo slipped through amongst them easily enough. An open stable lay to the right, behind the small market, where three horses stood nibbling on hay piles. One, the black thoroughbred, raised his head at their exit. Altaïr lifted his eyes, and the horse quickly trotted toward them. "Jump up," he whispered.

The horse stopped for them, and Altaïr hoisted her up. He mounted behind her and nudged the steed into trot. "Keep your eyes down until we pass the lake. Whatever you do, don't make contact with the soldiers."

Akilah settled back against him, and he tucked his elbows in tighter around her. She stared at the neck of the horse as it climbed the curved hillside of Damascus's landscape. Only once did she glance back at the city, but it was already gone around the bend. Her mind singled out the hairs of the horse's mane and silky coat; the pulsing in each step. She heard voices, the sound of soldiers, and shifted her gaze to a patch of ground to the side. Her peripheral vision showed her an army camp dotted with armed men, and some stood on the outskirts to watch each passerby. They soon passed the camp and started up another hill, around a treed cliff side, and toward another turn in the road ahead. There was a lake now in her sight, to the left of their climb. She started to chance a better glance at it when Altaïr threw off the cloak and topi, and the horse jolted into a powerful gallop.

* * *

The kingdom's beauty surpassed even the most crazy and outlandish of her daydreams. Damascus' desert-like landscape left little to her imagination, but she had seen paintings of such commodities as forests and booming wildlife. In the rich district, they enjoyed the luxuries of gardens, but seeing them tamed in a hobble did not do these wildflowers justice. She struggled over the desire to ask Altaïr to stop so she might pick a few, but his stern expression stifled that ambition.

They rode all day across the countryside and through villages, passing patrols both foreign and domestic. They did not speak to anyone, including each other, but Akilah got the distinct impression that Altaïr had much on his mind. He kept it silent from her, but his silence spoke volumes—encrypted volumes, but volumes nonetheless.

As the sun barely shined over the horizon, they entered another small village, smaller than most of the others they passed, and Altaïr dismounted outside a two-level establishment. "Wait here," he replied curtly and walked inside.

Akilah glanced around the dark landscape. Soldiers were few here, but each scoured the village as if they had catlike vision. She casually turned her head away when one studied her. She doubted any soldier would suspect her, dressed in her less extravagant garb, but it served to be cautious.

Altaïr came back out only a minute later and helped her down. "We'll rest here for the night. Go inside. I've already taken a room."

"Where are you going?" she whispered.

"I'll take the horse to the stable and do a sweep of the village. It shouldn't take long. Just don't speak to anyone and keep the door locked. Understand?"

She nodded, and he led the horse into the devouring darkness. The inn was small and modest, though it smelled of stale urine and mead, and the crowd inside packed into the main lobby area with merry-making as the men admired the women and the women happily relieved them of their coinage. Akilah noticed the innkeeper standing the near the bar, and he motioned her up the stairs with a quick jerk of his head. She ascended the staircase and figured out the room when only one door stood open.

The rooms rejected the smell of downstairs, but it did little to block out the sound. Not a big deal. She locked the door behind her and settled onto the bed. The noise preoccupied her mind for a good ten minutes before she sat up and stared at the closed window. _He said he'd be gone only a little while, but I wonder if he really is coming back. How long is a little while in assassin terms? I doubt we'd see eye-to-eye about most definitions, not that he'd care. He's so hardheaded I doubt he'd pay any mind to arguments I made._ She pouted her lip. Her own hardheadedness would be something she would overlook for the time being.

With that, the window shutters flew open, and Altaïr crawled inside. He closed them behind him and quickly approached the bed. "Here, I've brought you something." He extended a folded pile of cloth with a tied brown parcel atop.

She unbound the package of bread and apples and bit into an apple as her hands worked to unfold the clothes. Her eyebrow quirked. "Men's clothes?"

"It'll be a better way of getting around without attracting attention. I got another horse, so we can travel faster."

He did not say, and she did not ask, but Akilah suspected the horse was stolen; the clothes, too, perhaps, but maybe not. The horse she was more than certain about. "I see."

Altaïr's gaze remained on her face until she offered him a piece of bread. He took it from her and got up to stand at the window. "Eat then sleep. You'll need your rest. We'll get up at dawn and ride for Masyaf. We may make it by nightfall, but probably not until the day after. We eat as we travel and stop only for rest. It's better if we don't linger in anymore cities unless we don't make Masyaf by sunset. When we get closer, we'll go over the rest of the details. Understood?"

"I understand," she nodded again. "I'm grateful for what you did today. I'll do whatever you think is best." He nestled himself beneath the window sill, and she assumed that was his way of closing any further discussion. She quickly ate, wrapped up the remaining provisions, and nestled under the blankets. As she drifted off into sleep, she felt the comfortableness of his dark eyes upon her.

* * *

The man's attire fit surprisingly well, though it was baggy in the right places, and she tucked the turban snuggly across her mouth and nose. Having different horses proved faster, as he said it would, but his pace was still steady. Only once or twice did they encounter open landscapes unoccupied by soldiers, yet even then he never freed his horse into an open gallop. He never spoke to her, and her masculine disguise discretioned her from speaking to him, but she desperately wanted to.

She had not honestly expected him to open himself to her, but her mind was still heavily preoccupied with his intentions. He seemed so protective back in Damascus, and he stilled seemed such, but now it appeared more of a burden for him. He wanted to get back to Masyaf as soon as possible and report his news to Al Mualim; she slowed him down. Perhaps she was being selfish, but she did not feel great remorse over that acknowledgement. The slower they moved, though in silence, the longer she had with him. She maintained weeks and months without him, and every second next to him counted.

And she had that dream again. Such an unsettling dream, too.

"Altaïr?" Akilah whispered as they departed another village. "You've travelled much. Tell me, have you ever heard the saying, 'There is a difference in what we are _told_ to be true, and what we _see_ to be true'?"

Altaïr reined in abruptly, bringing them parallel to one another, and met her eyes. "Just once," he replied curiously. "Where did you hear it?"

She pouted her lip but kept her visible eyes stern. "You tell me first."

He was not going to reply at first; she could tell by the way he studied her in extended silence. He changed his mind. "Al Mualim said it to me."

She reined back now, bringing her to an abrupt halt, and remembered the dream again. An old man, adorned in white garments but a black cloak. A man Altaïr would speak to; a man Altaïr would obey—even if he believed her a lose end. She blinked when his hand gripped her elbow. "F-Forgive me. I just felt light headed."

"You are not used to this heat." Altaïr slipped his fingers beneath her turban and touched her forehead. "We won't make it to Masyaf by nightfall at this pace. We'll reach the next village by sunset and rest there for the night." He released her and kicked his horse onward. "Let's move."

Akilah rubbed her forehead and ushered her steed forward, smiling behind the cloth shield.

* * *

They reached the next town at twilight and checked into an inn at the far end of the village. This inn was nicer than the last but, ironically, the people looked poorer with their tattered garments and money savvy drink purchases. They went to their room, and Altaïr made himself a space on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Akilah raised an eyebrow. "No patrolling tonight?"

"I already did it by picking the last inn," he replied slyly. "We'll be fine here, go to sleep."

She wrinkled her nose and pulled off her turban. "Can't I take a bath? I feel like I stink to high heaven."

He smirked then shook his head. "Tomorrow, when we reach Masyaf. It's only one more night."

She pouted her lip but nodded. "All right. But first thing when we get there!"

"Okay," he responded, an amused tweak still on his lips. "When we get near Masyaf, we'll separate. I don't want people to see us together when traitors are everywhere. You'll go in first. When you do, there'll be a market to the left. Pretend to shop until I come in then follow me. I'll stop in front of the place you'll stay at, and you wait for my return. I must speak with Al Mualim as soon as possible."

Akilah watched him sprawl out on the blankets. A question hung on the edge of her tongue, but she knew she should not meddle. Still. "Why are you killing these men?" she blurted. He did not answer, and she glared. "Because Al Mualim told you to?"

"Because they are evil men. Men with the power to harm others with their ill intentions. They are a threat to the Holy Land and must be eliminated."

"What gives you the right to pass judgment on them? To decide whose evil is or isn't too dangerous; to take someone's life?"

"I heard no arguments when I killed your father's murderer. You praised me when it came to that." He passed her a reproachful glance then closed his eyes when she looked away. "Which brings up the better question: why were you in the middle district that day? To get revenge on Jubair for killing your uncle?" Her silence gave him his answer. "Vengeance is no better than murder, Akilah. You should be grateful I kept you from tarnishing your soul with their blood."

Akilah breathed a shaky breath as teardrops fell over her eyelids. He must have heard her unsteady inhalation, because he suddenly sat straight up and looked at her. She kept her eyes directed at the window. He was absolutely right, of course, but it still hurt to hear.

He crawled onto the bed then and carefully pulled her into his arms, cradling her cheek against his chest. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me."

Akilah clutched her chest above her heart and squeezed her eyes against the tears. "I'm so afraid. Each passing moment seems so scarcely lived and yet such a blessing. I have lost everything I used to know. All I have left are things that _truly_ terrify me to lose." She lifted her eyes to meet his. "I don't want to die—"

"I will never let that happen," he spoke sternly. "I'll protect you from anything that has hurt you in the past. Even if I have to sacrifice myself. I—"

"The greatest thing I have to lose," she interrupted softly, "I fear more than losing my own life." Her eyes strained against the salty drops in her eyes. "Living without you." His hold tightened when he flinched, and she tears pushed over her eyelids again. "You've become a part of me that can't be ignored. You helped me survive my father's death, survive the constant social criticism, and pulled me through when my world collapsed; it was you." She pulled out of his embrace, rose up onto her knees, and touched his hands. "Please, don't do this anymore! I want you to live! I'll work as a man and change my name; I'll cook and clean for you; please, just don't go!"

"I must. The mission is almost complete; I cannot stop now."

"Then take me with you. I know how to fight! I could help you! A woman can infiltrate places less suspiciously than a man. Take me with you and I'll keep you safe! Please, I—"

Altaïr's lips slammed down over hers. She was stunned at first, and he drew her into his arms once more. She melted against him and clung to his neck as her mouth returned his massaging touch. This kiss felt different than their first; softer and sweeter, intent on plunging deep inside her soul as her heart throbbed against the embrace. He pulled her down onto the bed with him, kissing all the while, and positioned her comfortably on the sheets.

"Sleep." He kissed her forehead and enveloped her in his arms. "We will set out early tomorrow. You'll need your rest."

Akilah burrowed into his figure but closed her eyes. She had not realized just how exhausted she was, but dozing off in Altaïr's arms, the sleepiness proved too strong to fight. Just as her mind slipped, a voice whispered softly, "I will always come back to you, my love."

* * *

Rounding the corner down the long stretch of a dirt trail, the sunlight winked eagerly over the mountain tops and down into the village cradled amongst the peaks. At the end of the road stood a tall wooden gate reaching high along the rock wall and two guards posted in the center, swords ready to defend against any who might try to pass unwelcome. At the right of the gate were horses starting their morning with a hefty breakfast.

Akilah directed her stead amongst them, dismounted, and carefully approached the guards. Their eyes never left her, but she made certain to keep her hands in open view at all times. They let her cross through without a word, and beyond the gate a village bustled with daily comings and goings of its residents. _Wait at the market to the left_, she reviewed Altaïr's words in her mind. The market was small in comparison to what she was used to, but its intermingling amongst a collage of buildings gave each stall a personal sense of space. She walked amongst the people at first, scanning each seller's goods with a disinterested eye, but felt herself becoming anxious soon after. After twenty minutes, she sat between two cloaked men on a nearby bench.

For the home of assassins, Masyaf struck her as a peaceful place. Soldiers still spotted the landscape, but their eyes held a much less menacing stoicism than the guards of Damascus or those in the kingdom. People greeted each other with friendliness, not just politeness. The surrounding mountains cast a protective shadow over the village edges, and the sun rose high in the sky, kissing the trees and underbrush with favoritism. Somehow, it surprised her that anyone would ever desire to leave.

When a half hour passed, Altaïr finally crossed through the gate. He briefly glanced at the market, passing the look off as a routine scan of his surroundings, but in that short-lived look, he managed to find her eyes, watching him from her spot on the bench. She stood casually and wandered through the market again. It took little effort to weave inconspicuously through the shoppers, but her pace slowed when she reached the fountain, and Altaïr made his way across the village. She waited until he disappeared around a building corner before following after him. He lingered outside a small home at the end of an uphill pathway. His eyes checked suspiciously over his shoulder, found hers again, then he walked away.

Akilah waited at the corner for a few moments then walked to the house. The door sat cracked slightly, but instead of going inside, she pulled it closed. There would be no use in following Altaïr; he would notice her for sure. Still, she was not ready to turn in just yet. Too many questions lingered in her mind, and as long as she dressed in costume, why not take advantage of her hidden identity? There were other places to investigate without stalking Altaïr's shadow.

That decided, she flipped her cloak behind her and continued along the street where it turned left then upward around yet another corner. She climbed the hill but stopped at the top to stare out over the village. The place contained numerous turns, nooks and crannies, but everything connected eventually and ended at the entrance gate. She carried on down the next street and halfway expected to find more turns to even longer roads, but as she rounded the corner, she found a small, open area of grass. Standing at the end on either side of a small, curved pathway were more guards. No one came and went from the trail for several minutes until a woman descended into the grassy area.

Akilah's interest peaked at this clear eccentricity of the walkway. The guards let her pass with only minor glances of consideration, but more stood at the top, where another grassy area spread across the area and a second passage slanted up the mountainside. This time, she saw the trail's destination. Built into the mountainside loomed a stone structure she could decipher as neither castle nor fort, but an intimidating combination of the two. The sunlight had not quite illuminated its full build, and the lurking shadows made the place appear ghostly.

It must be the assassin's guild.

The knowledge sent chills up her spine, and she quickly sat on the end of a bench to steady her pounding heart. Entering the guild would be extremely dangerous; it might compromise her stay in Masyaf. More importantly, Altaïr would be angry. The best plan would be turning back and staying in the house until he returned.

"He has always been the Master's favorite," mumbled one of the guards to the other. "Even after that blunder in Jerusalem, Al Mualim has still allowed him this opportunity to restore his honor."

"He may be arrogant," spoke the other guard, "but Al Mualim shows him favoritism for good reason. Altaïr's skills are unmatched, you cannot deny that."

"It's true. His work over the past weeks is exceptional, but once the Templars are killed, who's to say he won't get cocky like before? How many more of us will be sacrificed before the Master realizes Altaïr is as much a danger to us as he is to his enemies?"

"Hold your paranoia, Brother," hissed the second guard. "If Al Mualim catches wind of your foul tongue, he will have it cut out."

Akilah tore her eyes from the village below, held up her chin, and walked unfazed through the soldiers' guarded stares. The entrance to the guild was not guarded, but it made little difference as a swarm of soldiers and assassins lay within a circular courtyard. A ring sat in the center, and men took turns practicing their swordsmanship under the tutelage of an instructor standing near the entrance. A patrol roamed routinely throughout the open area, even up a small ramp that ascended toward the doorway into the fortress. Her curiosity managed to get her this far, but she dared not wander any further into the guild than the courtyard.

Something about this Al Mualim unsettled her immensely. His orders for Altaïr to kill were not the worst of it; she truly feared him. Deep down, she knew something about him should not be trusted, and the closer she came to understanding him, the more perilous her life became. She feared knowing too much, and yet not knowing quite enough. She feared his influence over the man she loved.

"Filthy heathen!"

Akilah jumped at the exclamation then realized the men in the ring shouted profanities at one another in their sparring. She felt herself sigh silently, and her eyes drifted up to the long windows of the fortress. There, she met a pair of icy blue eyes gazing out from beneath a dark cloak. Their owner was an old man that stood in the main window with his hands tucked behind his back. His white beard only intensified the coldness of his stare. When they bore into her black eyes, she knew instantly who he was—Al Mualim.

She looked away immediately and stood frozen. Her heart pounded anxiously at the realization of what she just saw. It was Al Mualim, the man that commanded Altaïr's every move and organized the most feared assassin guild throughout the known land. The man in her dream. That was the nagging fear the very thought of him sparked in her. She never knew exactly where it came from, but now it seemed all too obvious.

Altaïr exited the guild only moments later, and Akilah made sure to exit close behind him. She waited until they reached the main road, the fortress and pathways lost around the corner, before speaking to him. "Altaïr," she whispered as they stepped aside to let soldiers pass.

He gripped her wrist fiercely as they flattened to the wall; it was a grip of offense, but when the guards passed, he released her and continued onward. They managed to get back to the house without arousing any suspicion or acknowledging each other any further. When she closed the door behind her, however, he rushed her, forcing her back against the wall. "What do you think you're doing?!" he seethed between his teeth.

"I'm sorry," she whispered back. "I heard the guards talking and was worried about you." She pulled down his hood and ran her hand over his shaved head. "I told you, I want to help keep you safe."

Altaïr sighed, and the anxiety in his face left him along with the breath. He pulled down the front of her turban, running his fingers over her chapped lips, and kissed her. She moaned against the passionate touch of his mouth and enveloped his neck with her arms when he pulled the turban off her head and ran his hands through her thick black hair. Their kiss lasted a short while before he pulled back and cupped her cheek. "I must go. I have my new orders."

Her heart faltered at the sudden remembrance of fear. "No," she urged. "Please, don't go."

"Al Mualim commands it. We are close, Akilah, once Sibrand of the Knight's Teutonic and Robert de Sable are brought down by my blade. I will return—"

"I don't want you to do this," she persisted. "Something isn't right. I'm afraid."

"Don't be afraid. You will be safe here until I return." He gripped her neck. "And I _will_ return to you. Believe me."

"I do believe you. But your master, Al Mualim." She hesitated over the next words, bit her lip uncertainly, and then continued, "I do not trust him."

Altaïr did not appear fazed by the statement, but he did not sooth her suspicions either as he responded, "I will return soon. Wait for me." He kissed her forehead, drew his hood over his head, and slipped back out into the street.

Inside, Akilah felt something in her shake her, from fingertips to her soul; a panic that told her one thing above all others—she was now completely alone, and he was not coming to save her.

* * *

It seemed like no time before days rapidly drifted into weeks, and Altaïr never returned. Akilah spent little time wallowing in self-pity, however. Her first night she cowered in a corner of the house and cried herself to sleep, but since then, she worked to integrate herself amongst the villagers. It was difficult at first, finding ways to learn from the people without showing she was not one of them. She made a few friends in the marketplace that taught her the ropes of Masyaf, not because she asked, but because they enjoyed showing their knowledge of everything. The information was easy to acquire, and, despite their hearty egotism, Akilah liked their company. The fact that she no longer disguised herself as a man also prompted people to be less suspicious of her.

Every day at noon she sat amongst the market shoppers and watched the gate, but there was no sign of Altaïr. It became habit after the first week, but she no longer expected to see him walk through. Still, she harbored no ill will. Despite learning the ins and outs of Masyaf, she was still very much alone and in the den of the serpent. She never saw Al Mualim after their brief exchange at the guild, but her suspicions never lessened. That man had secrets—dark ones. And the nightmares continued on like a dark omen brewing over her heart.

After three weeks, Akilah wanted to invite some of her new-found friends over for dinner. Her provisions were low since she bought food only to make it through each day. Coins in her pocket—money she managed to earn privately schooling women's children or washing and cooking at nearby businesses—she set out for the market. A few people waved and greeted her, and she cheerfully returned the welcome. One guard on the corner just outside the marketplace watched her closely then nodded his head. He watched her frequently, and a local washerwoman told her she heard him talking pretty words about her the week before. It was cute that he fancied her, and she could not deny that he was handsome and polite, but he was several months too late to win her over so easily. She nodded back and continued on.

"Akilah!" beckoned a man at a meat stall. "Come, girl, come! Look what I have for you today! Fresh pig and chicken, guaranteed to win the heart of any man who tries your delicious cooking."

"The only man so smitten with my cooking is _you_, Master Qurban," she retorted with a playful wink.

"Because I am the man with the most sense amongst your guests!"

"Sense I am not so sure about, but cunning, most assuredly." She smiled at his proud grin and leaned over the display. "I'm not especially interested in poultry today. I aim to make a feast for guests at the house, and I don't believe poultry is the best choice. What do you recommend?"

"How many guests will you have?"

"I haven't asked around yet, but I estimate maybe a dozen."

"Ahah! Pray you, ma'am, am I to be on the list?"

"As the side dish perhaps." He flung his head back and laughed loudly. She giggled herself and pointed at a small slab of pork. "What about this one?"

"I would recommend a larger portion," intervened a voice over her left shoulder. She glanced around at it and instantly stepped back as Al Mualim pointed at a larger piece of pork. "This one would be best, I think. Better to have too much than too little, yes?" He turned his attention away from the stall and fully faced her. "If you have room for one more, might I partake of your invite?"

Akilah managed to suppress a dark glare and smiled politely. "Of course, Master Al Mualim. Any member of the guild is more than welcome in my home."

He smiled warmly and motioned his hand toward the mountainside. "As such, may I invite you to the guild for lunch, madam? Afterward, I will have someone assist you in shopping and preparing the dinner feast." He lifted his eyebrows in gentle curiosity. "Please?"

Akilah was impressed. If fate had not sent her foreboding premonitions, she might actually believe him to be as sincere a man as he pretended to be. Luckily for her, she was not so naïve. "Of course," she replied pleasantly. He was not the only one with practice in acting the role of someone he was not. "Lead the way, Master." He nodded, smile still up, and carried on out of the market. She followed but carefully slipped one of Qurban's small knives off the end of his stall and up into her long sleeve.

Akilah preferred having him in front of her, especially since in her dream he sneaks up on her. The walk to the guild passed off as a leisurely one despite the dark suspicions she was surprised were not radiating straight out of her pores. Crossing through the courtyard, they entered the fortress and ascended two flights of stairs to finally stop at a table on the far end of the second level. She was genuinely inundated that the fortress housed more books than people, but the observation did not water down her defenses.

Al Mualim poured her a goblet of honey-wine and passed it to her. "Please, drink. My attendants will have lunch ready shortly."

Akilah took the offer and put it to her lips, but never let the liquid pass into her mouth. She swallowed accordingly and kept the goblet close so he would not see her trick. "This is the first opportunity I've had to thank you for your constant protection of our village, Master. Your strong sword assures me a restful sleep at night."

He chuckled and drank from his own goblet. "The protection of the Holy Land and its people are our greatest priority, madam. If we are to ensure their safety, we must first ensure that of our own residents. Without our people, the safety of our guild is compromised, you see."

"An interesting insight." She tilted her head slightly. "I wonder if we should feel the same obligation." He quirked an eyebrow, but she looked away. "It is a good situation we find ourselves in. I trust you will always be here to protect us, Master."

Al Mualim smirked. "I will do what I must to ensure security."

"Master!" shouted a messenger across the room. He scaled the steps in three leaps and sprinted to the end of the corridor where he collapsed at their feet. "Master! Word from Altaïr! The attempt in Jerusalem to assassinate Robert de Sable was a trap. Robert was never in the city; he sent a decoy. Altaïr has received word of Robert's intentions to unite King Richard and Salahuddin against us and rides for Arsuf to stop the alliance and kill Robert."

"Excellent." Al Mualim walked around the table, brushing his fingertips over a round object sitting on his table, and smirked at the man. "Now that you've told me what I need to know, it's time to set the world into motion." He pressed his hand flat against the sphere, and it hummed into an instant golden glow.

Akilah stepped back from it uncertainly then jumped as the messenger screamed and grabbed at his head. He struggled with himself on the floor in a screaming fit for several moments then abruptly righted himself and lifted his eyes to meet Al Mualim's. "Master," he spoke, but unlike his rushed speech before, his voice droned monotonously. He sounded hollow.

Akilah gasped at Al Mualim, who raised the sphere off its pedestal and into his palm. "W-What did you do to him?!"

"The same thing I'm going to do to the whole world, my dear. Starting with our beloved Masyaf." He lifted the object toward her, but she maneuvered around the corner and raced down the corridor. His footsteps followed behind her, and a strange feeling made her skin tingle like needles prodding lightly at her. She vaulted up onto the banner and jumped out. Her hands closed over the wooden chandelier, but her grip faulted, and she fell toward the staircase below. The odd landing twisted her ankle and made something pop. She groaned loudly between clenched teeth then forced herself up; there was no time to hesitate.

Akilah limped quickly for the door, but guards blocked her way. Their eyes were empty, expressions void and dull, and behind them townspeople began to gather in the courtyard with similar barrenness. She managed to spin around and hurry back up the stairs. Waiting at the top of the second flight stood Al Mualim with the sphere raised toward her. She flung her hidden blade at him, distracting him long enough for her to barge through the doorway at the top of the first flight, and whimpered against the vastness of the garden. It was empty except for a few motionless women, but none of them paid her any mind as she struggled to find the end of the garden.

"Come on," she barked to herself, but it lacked conviction as she reached the final balcony railing and the unsettling omen gripped tighter on her. "Come on, come on!" She scanned the area for some sort of escape, but there was nothing. She was trapped.

"Why run, silly woman?" Al Mualim made his way to her level of the garden and smirked. "Don't you see? I'm offering you the chance to live a quiet life. With this Piece of Eden, I will control the wills of mankind, and the world will be at peace. This fear encompassing you now will pass and never bother you again."

"God gave people free will so they might decide their own lives!"

"God?" He laughed. "How can you claim God is the ruler of this world after the power you have seen? Those miracles are nothing but illusions, provided by this." He raised the sphere a little higher. "There is no God."

"Bold words," she chastised. "We'll see if you say the same when you are sent to meet Him."

Al Mualim watched her thoughtfully then lowered the sphere. "You've lost everything, Akilah." She flinched. "What could you possibly have to live for? You think Altaïr will come back for you?"

"How did you know my name?"

"Do you think he loves you? Did he tell you that? Silly woman. There is no room in an assassin's heart for something as fickle as love. He is a warrior for the Holy Land with no room in his life except his mission. You see, my dear, there is a difference in what we are _told_ to be true, and what we _see_ to be true. That is why he has not come to visit you, even when he returned after his success in Acre."

He returned? When? "You're a liar! I don't believe you!"

"Believe what you wish. But you and I both know the doubt has been lingering in your mind. Join me, and I can give him to you, as an indication of good faith. All I ask in exchange is your obedience. Does that not sound like a fair trade?"

Akilah squared her trembling jaw and straightened onto her swelling leg. "Nothing is true," she whispered softly. "Everything is permitted. Wisdom and freedom is what your creed commands. I will no sooner submit to you than Altaïr will."

Al Mualim sighed dryly and shrugged. "Then, take comfort, my dear. He will not be far behind you." He flung the sphere high in the air, and a rush of light burst from it. It slammed into her like a solid force, slamming her back into the railing then off her feet and through the rushing air. Amidst the canyon, the river waited to claim her.

She felt the briefest of sensations consuming her body and a heavy pain in her head when her body smacked into the water. Then, she felt nothing…

* * *

Altaïr killed Robert and stopped the attempt at a deceptive alliance, but he found the true treachery lay back in Masyaf with the deeds of his own master. The villagers of Masyaf were Al Mualim's slaves, subject to his will, and Altaïr found Akilah's house empty. He confronted Al Mualim, both dismayed at the betrayal and angered at the deception.

He managed to kill the old man. Such a sad case, when a student must save his teacher through death. The Piece of Eden must be destroyed. It brought only greed and death; he could not allow it to survive this conclave.

But it did.

And far below, down a long stretch of riverbed that blackened with the setting sun, a body drifted ashore. A woman with long, raven hair.

"She's still alive," spoke a voice hovering over her. "Quick, get her legs."

The strangers carried her away into the night, further and further from Masyaf—from Altaïr. Strange. Who was she? And why did leaving this man, Altaïr, make her already suffocating chest clench so tightly?

* * *

**Avs**: Fini! Of course, this story will continue on, but not for quite a while. It will continue when the game saga continues! Thanks everyone for reading, and I hope you all enjoyed the adventure thus far. Hope to see you again when the next game comes out; I'm pretty stoked about it! Stay awesome!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Fifteen Years Later_

The garden blossomed nicely under the warm sunlight piercing through the canopy of closely knit trees. After years of care, the withering wilderness now flourished under the constant care of the neighboring household. A woman kept watch over the blossoms and greenery with a calm sense of purpose that radiated a contentment that beautified her already stunning ebony face. The household was hers, or rather, she lived there with the couple who owned it. They found her nearly drowned years ago and took her in; the trio had been together ever since.

She did not remember how she almost drowned. Her knowledge and sense were unaffected by the incident, but her memories were gone, even after all this time. It bothered her only a little at first, but with each additional year she felt something getting further and further away. Something from before…

"Akilah!"

The woman looked up from her sitting position amongst a group of yellow flowers. Her raven black hair reached down beyond her waist in a thick braid. It was not covered by any sort of veil or topi, and the darkness ironically enhanced her sharp but gentle brown eyes. She smiled at the thirty-five year old woman entering the garden, her kind face rough over the years of sun and labor. "Shillan."

Shillan smiled back and sat beside Akilah. "I can always find you with little effort. I only need find the nearest batch of flowers."

Akilah rubbed the soft petals on one of the blooms. "I don't know what it is; I just love flowers. They feel," she struggled for an expression, "childlike."

"A sweet analogy. And have you named your children?"

"The flowers are Talak, the trees Latif, the soil Nasir; the sky Sharif."

"And the birds?"

"The birds?" Akilah glanced up at a hawk perched comfortably on a high branch overhead. "Altaïr."

"Fitting names."

"They seem so, though I know not why. Somehow, referring to them by those, I feel closer. Like we're family."

"Perhaps from you previous life."

"Perhaps."

Shillan shuffled her knees together and ran her nimble fingers through the dirt. "Akilah, do you still not remember anything from your time before we rescued you?"

Akilah shook her head and carefully pressed her soiled hands into the ground around a flower, compacting the freshly watered dirt snuggly amongst the roots. "Not really, no. I've been having dreams about a man dressed in white, but he's too far away to see. I feel I know him somehow, but he doesn't remind me of anything." Her eyes drooped somewhat as she rested back on her feet. "Perhaps if I could see his face…"

Shillan watched her friend's face closely. At one time, the idea of the past would not even make Akilah blink, but as time passed, things changed.

And some things had not.

"Akilah," she began uncertainly. "Have you felt all right these last few years, other than your memory?"

Akilah nodded without looking up. "Yes, fine."

The answer was not what Shillan wanted to hear. "No aches or unusual exhaustion?"

She shook her head nonchalantly. "Not that I've noticed."

Shillan envied that Akilah's awareness had not been struck by her unsettled voice; her mind was still too innocent from her missing lifetime of experience. She suspected, however, that involuntary naivety was not all it was coveted to be. She reached forward suddenly and pressed her palm flat against Akilah's cheek, bringing the girl's eyes to meet hers. "Don't you think it's time you should?"

Akilah's eyelashes fluttered. "What do you mean?"

Shillan smiled. "You're special. I always knew you were, deep down, but this is something you can't ignore, Akilah." She lowered her hand and lightly brushed her own face. "You and I were the same age once. Both young and beautiful, in the prime of our lives. But look at me now. I have more lines than flesh."

Akilah laughed at the exaggeration. "Aging isn't _that_ bad, Shillan."

Shillan's smile shifted a bit more cunningly. "How would you know? You haven't aged a day."

Now Akilah recoiled. "What?"

"Surely you must have noticed. No wrinkles, no lines, no sag. Not even aches or decay."

"I'm sure it's only—"

"You and I both know a person should never deal in coincidence."

Akilah shifted awkwardly at the accusation, but it was clear her mind now raced with the possibility. "So what are you saying?"

"You know what I'm saying." Akilah's hair bristled, and Shillan clutched her hand tenderly. "Do not be angry, my dear one. You know this place is home to you, no matter what you find." She withdrew and poised her back, resolute. "But you cannot make a future without settling your past."

"What if I'm not meant to know my past? What if I was meant to forget?"

"No one is meant to forget who they are or who they have been." She clutched Akilah's hand again and smiled supportively. "You are always my dear sister, Akilah. Who you are will not change because of who you once were, but you cannot grow without that lost knowledge. Please, say you will consider it."

* * *

Akilah tried to ignore the anxiety inside her as Shillan walked back toward the house. She expected this day would come, but somehow she still was not prepared for it, prepared for the accusation. Because the truth was, she had noticed. It had been subtle at first, but she had noticed.

She was a little stronger, a little faster. There were times she knew someone her age should be running their course, but she felt the same as the day before. Every day she felt as the day before. Every day she felt exactly the same. Shillan stopped keeping up; the lines on her face grew longer and more distinct. They both got sick and felt injuries and pain, but Shillan's experiences took their toll on her. Once Akilah recovered, there was no indication she had ever suffered.

She was not afraid of being different. She was afraid of being an abomination, something not only outside the social norm but the spiritual as well. What if her inescapable youth was wrong in every way? What if it was unforgivable?

Akilah jumped as a bird landed on her shoulder and prodded her ear with its beak. She smiled and lightly flicked its tail, causing it to flutter away. "You will still accept me, won't you, Altaïr?" Strangely, the thought set her heart a little more at ease, though not at peace.

* * *

Night fell, and with it, the end of her last few moments at this familiar place. Shillan recommended she take a few days to decide on a course of action, but Akilah already knew where she must go to find these answers. She did not know a thing about it other than a word, a word she was certain would at least point her in the right direction: Masyaf. Once far away from this place, she would begin to ask around. Too many questions too close to home would put the others on her trail, and she did not want them having any knowledge of her whereabouts, should the answers she found be confirmations of her fears.

Akilah tied a satchel across her chest and took one final look at the home. It was near impossible to see from this distance with the night shadowing the already heavily shaded residence. But she knew its every stone, every corner. She could make out the outline and imagined the people within it. "Xaatrek." And then she walked further into the darkness until the canyon opened up into the mysterious world beyond, covered in an omniscient moonlight.

* * *

The journey was long. She spent the first two days heading in a single direction without speaking to anyone unless the situation merited otherwise. No one spoke to her either, not that she blamed them. Despite her residency, she really had not gotten to know the nearby villagers. Being amidst people made her feel vulnerably exposed in a way that felt all too threatening. Now, as their faces came and went with the land, she was grateful for her suspicion. No one recognized her so there was little chance she would be followed.

On the third day, she asked only a handful of people in every village she passed through if they knew where or what Masyaf was. No one knew anything, and not because fear had wiped their memory. This Masyaf was elusive. She continued on in the same direction despite these unpromising encounters and kept to herself. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. No one knew anything about a place called Masyaf, not a single soul.

Until three months and six days into her disheartening journey.

Akilah sat down outside the horse stable and scooped some of the horses' water out with her hand for a small sip. Her body was accustomed to the heat and exhaustion, but the thirst never felt natural. She was careful to keep her topi tight when entering villages so as not to stimulate interest, but there were occasional stragglers who always took notice. All she had to do was keep to herself, like normal.

"Greetings, wandering spirit."

Akilah turned her head and blinked at the old man sitting across the bench from her. He had not been sitting there a moment ago. How had he sneaked up on her like that, especially with a staff assisting his crippled leg? She bowed her head. "Greetings."

"Ah, it is a fine day, is it not? I woke this morning with the strongest certainty that today I needed to visit the stable, which is rather silly, since I own no horse. Seeing you here, however, I now know why Allah sent me thus."

"Do you?" she asked nonchalantly, not interested in being wooed by a seasoned man.

"I do. I think you have a question on your mind, wandering spirit." He smiled when she glanced at him again. "I have lived here all my life, which is quite a feat. Ask, and perhaps I hold the answer you seek."

Akilah studied him several long, silent seconds then lowered her tone. "I'm looking for a place called Masyaf."

The old man's pleasant face dropped like saddle bags, and he leaned away from her just slightly. "Masyaf?"

"Yes."

He waited, apparently expecting more, but she offered none. "Might I inquire why?"

"You may."

His lips twitched. "Would you tell me?"

"It's private. All I know is that my spirit is drawn to this place called Masyaf, but I know nothing about it or where it's located. No one else seems to have any answers either. I was beginning to think my mind was lost, but now I see, seasoned sir, that Allah has brought me to you as much you to me."

The man attempted a grin, but it was obvious he was displeased with the topic. "It would appear Allah desires you to know this, otherwise he would not have divinely brought us together."

"Agreed."

He looked away from her now and pretended to watch the people loitering amidst the establishments. His voice lowered as well. "Masyaf was the headquarters of the assassins. Al Mualim's assassins."

The name made her spine tingle. She knew this name, saw a shadowed face at the tip of her memory—and it made her heart sink. "The assassins have been killed?"

"Not likely. Fifteen years ago, during the Crusades, the assassins swept through primary cities and killed off members of a religious group called Templars. Their campaign was quite successful, until a change of allegiances led to the overthrow of Al Mualim by his own men when he was found desiring the evil that the Templars also sought. Afterward, what assassins remained scattered throughout the land. Some say they fight on against the Templars, waiting for the appropriate time to rise again and overthrow their politically cloaked enemies. Others think they fled with the treasures, bent on keeping them hidden from any who would wish to possess them for selfish gain. Some still simply believe they died."

The man glanced at her once more. "The city is abandoned now but still stands. Even the villagers left once the assassins were no longer present to protect them from hoarding Crusaders. It's a ghost town."

Akilah's eyes narrowed. This all sounded familiar, but it still did not spark any clear memories. "Where can I find it?"

* * *

The old man was wrong. It was not a ghost town at all, but a lost sanctuary from a time equally abandoned. The villagers' homes were heavily deteriorated, and single-level roofs were caved in. The taller, more thought-out constructions still stood, but in another decade they too would fall. Standing at the tall, wooden city gate, she gazed up the steady hill as the town unfolded with the landscape rather than upon it. It had been beautiful once. She could sense it clearly, filled with people and the noise of an open market, the smell of fresh vegetables; the feel of white stone against her fingertips. The roads leading up the hill were indeed lined with smooth, white stone.

Akilah walked the path robotically. The senses could be felt, but she still could not see a clear memory. It was hidden, tucked away firmly in the strongest fort of her mind. She gave a second glance at one building only. It was small house in a corner of the village halfway up the hill. The location was well-hidden, and most people would have no reason to pass by it without intention. But it was only a second glance. Her pace did not slow.

At the top of the hill, standing like a centurion making claim over the tiny structures below it, a castle waited. This she remembered a little differently. She remembered fear and anxiety; running; steel against steel. The courtyard did not survive time well. Minor troths were dilapidated and rotting while the fenced practice circle in the center was collapsed in several places. The hay had sunk back into the earth, but its smell still remained. There was a pathway up into the castle, and she took it in stride.

Inside, the castle fared much better. The entire room was a study, and the sturdy bookcases maintained their purpose well with the aged books sitting neatly on the shelves. The wooden chandelier overhead still had candles in it, and nature had yet to stretch its consuming hand through the stone. But straight back, up a small flight of stairs, was an open doorway. She could see the sky beyond.

This was familiar to her. Something about it urged her forward; it practically yanked her across the hall, up the stairs, and out into the overgrown garden. She did not stop there. She vaulted over the railing, raced across the grass, and continued to catapult herself through the garden until, finally, the dissention ceased. There was a single balcony railing safeguarding visitors from the steep hillside beyond. She walked to it and touched the barrier with a small look at the watery depths below.

"Why run, silly woman?"

Akilah spun, raising her arms instinctively, and standing before her was a man dressed in black robes. He was elderly with a long, white beard and small, pearl-blue eyes. He clutched a golden sphere in his palm which almost looked alive in its fluorescence. "Don't you see? I'm offering you the chance to live a quiet life. With this Piece of Eden, I will control the wills of mankind, and the world will be at peace. This fear encompassing you now will pass and never bother you again."

"God gave people free will so they might decide their own lives!"

Akilah paled. That was her voice, but she had no spoken. Where did it come from?

"God?" The man laughed. "How can you claim God is the ruler of this world after the power you have seen? Those miracles are nothing but illusions, provided by this." He raised the sphere a little higher, and Akilah felt the subconscious need to get away from it. "There is no God."

"Bold words," she heard herself say again. "We'll see if you say the same when you are sent to meet Him."

As the man watched her thoughtfully, she suddenly knew why her voice carried without her will. This was not real. It was a memory.

"You've lost everything, Akilah. What could you possibly have to live for? You think Altaïr will come back for you?" The name made her heart leap and cringe at the same time.

"How did you know my name?"

"Do you think he loves you? Did he tell you that?" She had a different memory this time, in her mind: an image of a man in white robes, his hood drawn back to reveal a roughly handsome face smiling down at her as he clutched her shoulders. The man from her dreams! "Silly woman. There is no room in an assassin's heart for something as fickle as love. He is a warrior for the Holy Land with no room in his life except his mission. You see, my dear, there is a difference in what we are _told_ to be true, and what we _see_ to be true. That is why he has not come to visit you, even when he returned after his success in Acre."

Had he returned? She did not remember it. "You're a liar! I don't believe you!"

"Believe what you wish. But you and I both know the doubt has been lingering in your mind." It had. She felt it pressing against the gates of her mind's fortress. The uncertainty and fear. She had begun to doubt. "Join me, and I can give him to you, as an indication of good faith. All I ask in exchange is your obedience. Does that not sound like a fair trade?"

Akilah's heart jumped. Love for slavery? No, he was not offering her a chance to love. He offered her a chance of ownership, and Altaïr would never be caged. "Nothing is true," her invisible self whispered softly. Those mind-boggling words flooded from her own mouth as her memory harmonized, "Everything is permitted." She remembered these words! Altaïr, long ago, had spoken them to her. And a vision. She could not remember. "Wisdom and freedom is what your creed commands. I will no sooner submit to you than Altaïr will."

The man, Al Mualim she was suddenly sure, sighed dryly and shrugged. "Then, take comfort, my dear. He will not be far behind you." He flung the sphere high in the air, and a rush of light burst from it. There was a strange vibration in her body, the sudden force of being pushed backwards, yet it held no power over her. But as she turned back toward the balcony, she saw herself tumble backwards over the railing and plummet to the blue abyss below.

Akilah could not help herself. She climbed up onto the unsteady rail, took a deep breath, and leapt. The sensation of falling to her death was unusual; natural, as if repeated not so long ago. The water encompassed her fiercely, splintering into her flesh and bone like ravenous claws. Rapids carried her downstream furiously, and she knew they had hurried her away from Masyaf before. They carried her someplace safe.

And as the water threatened to choke the air from her, it suddenly calmed and pushed her onto shore. Her face hit the dirt hard. There was a little grass fighting upward through the sand, but it barely touched her cheek.

She felt a different caress, something internal. Touches of memories filled with people and places, of tastes and feelings, of fear and violence—of Altaïr stroking her skin softly as they lay naked in bed together; of his ghosted silhouette as he left that house in the corner, the last time they saw each other; of death's embrace. But it had spared her. And the Piece of Eden. What had it done to her? Eternal youth? Why?

Akilah pressed her hands into the soggy sand and slowly lifted herself up, raising her head. She felt her eyes narrow into slivers as her face drew tight with life's experiences. They transformed her lost and lonely mentality to something new. Why had the Piece of Eden given her this opportunity? Simple.

She ripped her topi off and let her raven locks cascade down her shoulders like untamed ferocity.

To kill them all.

* * *

**Avs**: All right, everyone! That's it until game 2! I hope this gives everyone an idea of what's to come and that no one is turned off by the idea. Anyway, see you in Venice!


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